r 


3.** 


CHANTICLEER-. 


THANKSGIVING    STORY 


THE    PEABODY    FAMILY 


"      •  »  •    "     , 


BOSTON:   B.  B.  MUSSEY  &  CO. 
NEW- YORK  :    J.  S.  REDFIELD. 

1850. 


ENTERKD,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850, 
BY   J.   S.   REDFIELD, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New- York. 


PREFACE. 

SHALL  the  glorious  festival  of  Thanksgiving,  now  yearly- 
celebrated  all  over  the  American  Union,  (said  the  author  to 
himself  one  day,)  be  ushered  in  with  no  other  trumpet 
than  the  proclamations  of  State-Governors  ?  May  we  not 
have  a  little  holiday-book  of  our  own,  in  harmony  with 
that  cherished  Anniversary,  which,  while  it  pleases  your 
fellow-countrymen,  should  it  have  that  good  fortune,  may 
acquaint  distant  strangers  with  the  observance  of  that 
happy  custom  of  our  country?  "With  the  hope  that  it 
may  be  so  received,  and  as  a  kindly  word  spoken  to  all 
classes  and  sections  of  his  fellow  citizens,  awakening  a  feeling 
of  union  and  fraternal  friendship  at  this  genial  season,  the 
writer  presents  this  little  volume  of  home  characters  and 
incidents. 

NOVEMBER,  1850. 


M133010 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE  LANDSCAPE  OF  THE  STORY. 

CHAPTER  II. 

ARRIVAL  OF  THE  MERCHANT  AND  HIS  PEOPLE. 

CHAPTER    III. 

THE   FARMER-FOLKS    FROM   THE   WEST. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    CHILDREN. 

CHAPTER   V. 

THE    FASHIONABLE    LADY    AND    HER    SON. 

CHAPTER    VI. 

THE    FORTUNES    OF    THE    FAMILY    CONSIDERED. 

CHAPTER   VII. 

THE    THANKSGIVING    SERMON. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    DINNER. 

CHAPTER     IX. 

THE    NEW-COMERS. 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE   CONCLUSION. 


CHAPTER   FIRST. 

THE    LANDSCAPE    OF    THE    STORY. 

I  SEE  old  Sylvester  Peabody — the  head  of  the 
Peabody  family — seated  in  the  porch  of  his  coun 
try  dwelling,  like  an  ancient  patriarch,  in  the  calm 
of  the  morning.  His  broad-brimmed  hat  lies  on  the 
bench  at  his  side,  and  his  venerable  white  locks  flow 
down  his  shoulders,  which  time  in  one  hundred  sea 
sons  of  battle  and  sorrow,  of  harvest  and  drouth,  of 
toil  and  death,  in  all  his  hardy  wrestlings  with  old 
Sylvester,  has  not  been  able  to  bend.  The  old  man's 
form  is  erect  and  tall,  and  lifting  up  his  head  to  its 
height,  he  looks  afar,  down  the  country  road  which 
leads  from  his  rural  door,  towards  the  city.  He  has 
kept  his  gaze  in  that  direction  for  better  than  an 
hour,  and  a  mist  has  gradually  crept  upon  his  vision ; 
1*  (  9  ) 


10  CHANTICLEER. 

objects  begin  to  lose  their  distinctness  ;  they  grow 
dim  or  soften  away  like  ghosts  or  spirits ;  the  whole 
landscape  melts  gently  into  a  pictured  dew  before  him. 
Is  old  Sylvester,  who  has  kept  it  clear  and  bright  so 
long,  losing  his  sight  at  last,  or  is  our  common  world, 
already  changing  under  the  old  patriarch's  pure  re 
gard,  into  that  better,  heavenly  land  ? 

It  seemed  indeed,  on  this  very  calm  morning  in 
November,  as  if  angels  were  busy  about  the  Old 
Homestead,  (which  lies  on  the  map,  in  the  heart  of 
one  of  the  early  states  of  our  dear  American  Union,) 
transforming  all  the  old  familiar  things  into  some 
thing  better  and  purer,  and  touching  them  gently 
with  a  music  and  radiance  caught  from  the  very  sky 
itself.  As  in  the  innocence  of  beauty,  shrouded  in 
sleep,  dreams  come  to  the  eyelids  which  are  the 
realities  of  the  day,  with  a  strange  loveliness — the 
fair  country  lay  as  it  were  in  a  delicious  dreamy 
slumber.  The  trees  did  not  stand  forth  boldly  with 
every  branch  and  leaf,  but  rather  seemed  gentle  pic 
tures  of  trees ;  the  sheep-bells  from  the  hills  tinkled 
softly  and  as  if  whispering  a  secret  to  the  wind  ;  the 
birds  sailed  slowly  to  and  fro  on  the  air ;  there  was 
no  harshness  in  the  low  of  the  herds,  no  anger  in  the 


THE    LANDSCAPE    OF    THE    STORY.  11 

heat  of  the  sun,  not  a  sight  nor  a  sound,  near  by  nor 
far  off,  which  did  not  partake  of  the  holy  beauty 
of  the  morning,  nor  sing,  nor  be  silent,  nor  stand 
still,  nor  move,  with  any  other  than  a  gliding  sweet 
ness  and  repose,  or  an  under-tone  which  might  have 
been  the  echo  here  on  earth,  of  a  better  sphere.  There 
was  a  tender  sadness  and  wonder  in  the  face  of  old 
Sylvester,  when  a  voice  came  stealing  in  upon  the 
silence.  It  did  not  in  a  single  tone  disturb  the  hea 
venly  harmony  of  the  hour,  for  it  was  the  voice  of 
the  orphan  dependent  of  the  house,  Miriam  Haven, 
whose  dark-bright  eye  and  graceful  form  glimmered, 
as  though  she  were  the  spirit  of  all  the  softened 
beauty  of  the  scene,  from  amid  the  broom-corn, 
where  she  was  busy  in  one  of  the  duties  of  the  season. 
Well  might  she  sing  the  song  of  lament,  for  her  peo 
ple  had  gone  down  far  away  in  the  sea,  and  her 
lover — where  was  he  ? 

Far  away — far  away  are  they, 
And  I  in  all  the  world  alone — 

Brightly,  too  brightly,  shines  the  day — 
Dark  is  the  land  where  they  are  gone ! 

I  have  a  friend  that's  far  away, 

Unknown  the  clime  that  bears  his  tread ; 

Perchance  he  walks  in  light  to-day, 
He  may  be  dead !  he  may  be  dead ! 


12  CHANTICLEER. 

Like  every  other  condition  of  the  time,  the  voice 
of  Miriam  too,  had  a  change  in  it. 

"  What  wonder  is  this  ?"  said  old  Sylvester,  "  I 
neither  hear  nor  see  as  I  used — are  all  my  senses  go 
ing  ?" 

He  turned,  as  he  spoke,  to  a  woman  of  small 
stature,  in  whose  features  dignity  and  tenderness 
mingled,  as  she  now  regarded  him,  with  reverence 
for  the  ancient  head  of  the  house.  She  came  for 
ward  as  he  addressed  her,  and  laying  her  hand 
gently  on  his  arm,  said — 

"  You  forget,  father ;  this  is  the  Indian  summer, 
which  is  the  first  summer  softened  and  soberer,  and 
often  comes  at  thanksgiving-time.  It  always  changes 
the  country,  as  you  see  it  now." 

"  Child,  child,  you  are  right.  I  should  have  known 
it,  for  always  at  this  season,  often  as  it  has  come  to 
me,  do  I  think  of  the  absent  and  the  dead — of  times 
and  hours,  and  friends  long,  long  passed  away.  Of 
those  whom  I  have  known,"  he  continued  eagerly, 
"  who  have  fallen  in  battle,  in  the  toil  of  the  field,  on 
the  highway,  on  the  waters,  in  silent  chambers,  by  sick 
ness,  by  swords :  I  thank  God  they  have  all,  all  of 
my  kith  and  kin  and  people,  died  with  their  names 


THE    LANDSCAPE    OF   THE    STORY.  13 

untouched  with  crime ;  all,"  he  added  with  energy, 
planting  his  feet  firmly  on  the  ground  and  rising  as 
he  spoke  sternly,  "all,  save  one  alone,  and  he — 

lie  turned  toward  the  female  at  his  side,  and  when 
he  looked  in  her  face  and  saw  the  mournful  expres 
sion  which  came  upon  it,  he  dropped  back  into  his 
chair  and  stayed  his  speech. 

At  this  moment  a  little  fellow,  who,  with  his  flaxen 
locks  and  blue  eyes,  was  a  very  cherub  in  plumpness 
and  the  clearness  of  his  brow,  came  toddling  out  of  the 
door  of  the  house,  struggling  with  a  basin  of  yellow 
corn,  which,  shifting  about  in  his  arms,  he  just  managed 
to  keep  possession  of  till  he  reached  old  Sylvester's 
knee.  This  was  little  Sam  Peabody,  the  youngest  of 
the  Peabodys,  and  as  he  looked  up  into  his  grand 
father's  face  you  could  not  fail  to  see,  though  they 
grew  so  wide  apart,  the  same  story  of  passion  and 
character  in  each.  The  little  fellow  began  throwing 
the  bright  grain  from  the  basin  to  a  great  strutting 
turkey  which  went  marching  and  gobbling  up  and 
down  the  door-yard,  swelling  his  feathers,  spreading 
his  tail,  and  shaking  his  red  neck-tie  with  a  bound 
less  pretence  and  restlessness  ;  like  many  a  hero  he 
was  proud  of  his  uniform,  although  the  fatal  hour 


14  CHANTICLEER. 

which  was  to  lay  him  low  was  not  far  off.  It  was  the 
thanksgiving  turkey,  himself,  in  process  of  fattening 
under  charge  of  Master  Sam  Peabody.  Busy  in  the 
act,  he  was  regarded  with  smiling  fondness  by  his 
mother,  the  widow  Margaret  Peabody,  and  his  old 
grandfather,  when  he  suddenly  turned,  and  said — 

"  Grand-pa,  where's  brother  Elbridge  ?" 

The  old  man  changed  his  countenance  and  strug 
gled  a  moment  with  himself. 

"  He  had  better  know  all,"  he  said,  after  a  pause  of 
thought,  in  which  he  looked,  or  seemed  to  look  afar 
off  from  the  scene  about  him.  "  Margaret,  painful 
though  it  be  to  you  and  to  me,  let  the  truth  be 
spoken.  God  knows  I  love  your  son,  Elbridge,  and 
would  have  laid  down  my  life  that  this  thing  had  not 
chanced,  but  the  child  asks  of  his  brother  so  often, 
and  is  so  often  evaded  that  he  will  be  presently  snared 
in  a  net  of  falsehoods  and  deceptions  if  we  speak  not 
more  plainly  to  him." 

An  inexpressible  anguish  overspread  the  counte 
nance  of  the  widowed  woman,  and  she  turned  aside 
to  breathe  a  brief  prayer  of  trust  and  hope  of  strength 
in  the  hour  of  trial. 

The  thanksgiving  turkey,  full  of  his  banquet  of 


THE    LANDSCAPE    OF    THE    STORY.  15 

corn,  strutted  away  to  a  slope  in  the  sun  by  the  road 
side,  and  little  Sam  Peabody  renewed  his  question. 

"  Can't  I  see  brother  Elbridge,  grand-pa  ?" 

"  Never  again,  I  fear,  my  child." 

"  Why  not,  grandfather  ?" 

"  Answer  gently,  father,"  the  widow  interposed. 
"  Make  not  the  case  too  harsh  against  my  boy." 

"  Margaret,"  said  the  old  man,  lifting  his  counte 
nance  upon  her  with  dignity  of  look,  "  I  shall  speak 
the  truth.  I  would  have  the  name  of  my  race  pure 
of  all  stains  and  detractions,  as  it  has  been  for  an  hun 
dred  years,  but  I  would  not  bear  hardly  against  your 
son,  Margaret.  This  child,  innocent  and  unswayed  as 
he  is,  shall  hear  it,  and  shall  be  the  judge." 

Rising,  old  Sylvester  with  Margaret's  help,  lifted 
the  boy  to  the  deep  window-seat ;  and,  standing  on 
either  hand,  the  widow  and  the  old  man  each  at  his 
side,  Sylvester  taking  one  hand  of  the  child  in  his, 
began — 

"  My  child,  you  are  the  youngest  of  this  name  and 
household,  to  you  God  may  have  entrusted  the  con 
tinuance  of  our  race  and  name,  therefore  thus  early 
would  I  have  you  learn  the  lesson  your  brother's 
errors  may  teach." 


16  CHANTICLEER. 

"  That  should  come  last,"  the  widow  interposed 
gently.  "  The  story  itself  should  teach  it,  if  the  story 
be  true." 

"  Perhaps  it  should,  Margaret,"  old  Sylvester  re 
joined.  "  I  will  let  the  story  speak  for  itself.  It  is, 
my  child,  a  year  ago  this  day,  that  an  excellent  man, 
Mr.  Barbary,  the  preacher  of  this  neighborhood,  dis 
appeared  from  among  living  men.  He  was  blame 
less  in  his  life,  he  had  no  enemy  on  the  face  of  the 
earth.  He  was  a  simple,  frugal,  worthy  man — the 
last  time  alive,  he  was  seen  in  company  with  your 
brother  Elbridge,  by  the  Locust-wood,  near  the  pond 
where  you  go  to  gather  huckleberries  in  the  summer, 
and  hazels  in  the  autumn.  He  was  seen  with  him 
and  seen  no  more." 

"  But  no  man  saw  Elbridge,  father,  lift  hand  against 
him,  or  utter  an  angry  word.  On  the  contrary,  they 
were  seen  entering  the  wood  in  close  companionship, 
and  smiling  on  each  other." 

"Even  so,  Margaret,"  said  Sylvester,  looking  at 
the  child  steadily,  and  waving  his  hand  in  silence 
toward  the  widow.  "  But  what  answer  gave  the 
young  man  when  questioned  of  the  whereabout  of 


THE    LANDSCAPE    OF    THE    STORY.  17 

his  friend  ?  Not  a  word,  Margaret — not  a  word,  my 
child." 

"  Is  Mr.  Barbary  dead,  grandfather  ?"  the  child  in 
quired,  leaning  forward. 

"  How  else  ?  He  is  not  to  be  found  in  pulpit  or 
field.  No  man  seeth  his  steps  any  more  in  their  an 
cient  haunts.  No  man  hearkens  to  his  voice." 

"  But  the  body,  father,  was  never  found.  He  may 
be  still  living  in  some  other  quarter." 

"  It  was  near  the  rock  called  High  Point,  you  will 
remember,  and  one  plunge  might  have  sent  him  to 
the  bottom.  The  under  currents  of  the  lake  are 
strong,  and  may  have  easily  swept  him  away.  There 
is  but  one  belief  through  all  this  neighborhood. 
Ethan  Barbary  fell  by  the  hand — Almighty  God, 
that  I  should  have  to  say  it  to  you,  my  own  grand 
son — Of  Elbridge  Peabody." 

The  child  sat  for  a  moment  in  dumb  astonishment, 
glancing,  with  distended  eyes  and  sweat  upon  his 
brow,  fearfully  from  the  stern  face  of  the  old  man  to 
the  downcast  features  of  the  widow,  when  recover 
ing  speech  he  asked : — 

"  Why  should  my  brother  kill  Mr.  Barbary,  if  he 
was  his  friend  ?  Was  not  Elbridge  always  kind,  mo- 


18  CHANTICLEER. 

ther  ?     I'm  sure  Tie  was  to  me,  and  used  to  let  me 
ride  old  Sorrel  before  him  to  the  mill !" 

u  Ever  kind  ?  He  was.  There  was  not  a  day  he 
did  not  make  glad  his  poor  mother's  heart,  with 
some  generous  act  of  devotion  to  her.  No  sun  set 
on  the  day  which  did  not  cheer  her  lonely  hearth 
with  a  new  light  of  gladness  and  peace  from  his 
young  eyes." 

"  Margaret,  you  forget.  He  was  soft  of  heart,  but 
proud  of  spirit,  and  haughty  beyond  his  age ;  you 
may  not  remember,  even  I  could  not  always  look 
down  his  anger,  or  silence  his  loudness  of  speech. 
Why  should  he  kill  Mr.  Barbary  ?  I  will  tell  you, 
child:  the  preacher,  too,  had  discerned  well  your 
brother's  besetting  sin,  and,  being  fearless  in  duty, 
from  the  Sabbath  pulpit  he  spake  of  it  plainly  and 
with  such  point  that  it  could  not  fail  to  come  home 
directly  to  the  bosom  of  the  young  man.  This  was 
on  the  very  Lord's  day  before  Mr.  Barbary  disap 
peared  from  amongst  us.  It  rankled  in  your  brother's 
bosom  like  poison ;  his  passions  were  wild  and  un- 
governed,  and  this  was  cause  enough.  If  he  had 
been  innocent,  why  did  Elbridge  Peabody  flee  this 
neighborhood,  like  a  thief  in  the  night  ?" 


THE    LANDSCAPE    OF    THE    STORY.  19 

"  Why  did  my  brother  Elbridge  leave  us,  mother  ?" 
said  the  child,  bending  eagerly  towards  the  widow, 
who  wrung  her  hands  and  was  silent. 

"  He  may  come  back,"  said  the  child,  shaking  his 
flaxen  locks,  and  not  abashed  in  the  least  by  her  si 
lence.  "  He  may  come  back  yet  and  explain  all  to 
us." 

«  Never !" 

At  that  very  moment  a  red  rooster,  who  stood  with 
his  burnished  wings  on  the  garden  wall,  near  enough  to 
have  heard  all  that  had  passed,  lifted  up  his  throat, 
and  poured  forth  a  clear  cry,  which  rang  through  the 
placid  air  far  and  wide. 

"  He  will— I  know  he  will,"  said  little  Sam  Pea- 
body,  leaping  down  from  his  judgment-seat  in  the 
window.  "  Chanticleer  knows  he  will,  or  he  would 
not  speak  in  that  way.  He  hasn't  crowed  once  be 
fore,  you  know,  grandfather,  since  Elbridge  went 
away ;  we'll  hear  from  brother  soon,  I  know  we  shall 
— I  know  we  shall !" 

The  little  fellow,  in  his  glee,  clapped  his  hands  and 
crowed  too.  The  grandfather,  looking  on  his  gam 
bols,  smiled,  but  was  presently  sad  again. 

"  Would  to  Heaven  he  may,"  he   said.    "  If  they 


20  CHANTICLEER. 

come  who  should,  to-day,  we  may  learn  of  him — for 
to-day  my  children  should  come  up  from  all  the 
quarters  of  the  land  where  they  are  scattered — the 
East,  the  West,  the  North,  the  South — to  join  with 
me  in  the  Festival  of  Thanksgiving  which  now  draws 
near.  My  head  is  whitened  with  many  winters,  and 
I  shall  see  them  for  the  last  time."  Sylvester  con 
tinued  :  "  If  they  come — in  this  calm  season,  which, 
so  soft  and  sweet,  seems  the  gentle  dawn  of  the 
coming  world — we  shall  have,  I  feel,  our  last  re-gath 
ering  on  earth !  But  they  come  not ;  my  eyes  are 
weary  with  watching  afar  off,  and  I  cannot  yet  dis 
cern  that  my  children  bear  me  in  remembrance,  in 
this  grateful  season  of  the  year.  Why  do  they  not 
come  ?" 

The  aged  patriarch  of  the  family  bowed  his  head 
and  was  silent.  From  the  broom-corn  the  gentle 
voice  stole  again : 

Why  sings  the  robin  in  the  -wood? 

For  him  her  music  is  not  shed : 

Why  blind-brook  sparkle  through  the  field  ? 

He  may  be  dead !  he  may  be  dead  ! 

The  murmur  of  Miriam's  musical  lamenting  had 
scarcely  died  away  on  the  dreamy  air,  when  there 


THE    LANDSCAPE    OF    THE    STORY.  21 

came  hurrying  forward  from  the  garden — where  she 
had  been  tending  the  great  thanksgiving  pumpkin, 
which  was  her  special  charge — the  black  servant  of 
the  household,  Mopsey  by  name,  who,  with  her  broad- 
fringed  cap  flying  all  abroad,  and  her  great  eyes  roll 
ing,  spoke  out  as  she  approached — 

"  Do  hear  dat,  massa  ?" 

"  I  hear  nothing,  Mopsey." 

"  Dere,  don't  you  hear't  now  ?     Dey 're  coming !" 

With  faces  of  curiosity,  and  ears  erect,  they  lis 
tened.  There  was  a  peculiar  sound  in  the  air,  and 
on  closer  attention  they  discerned,  in  the  stillness  of 
the  morning,  the  jingling  traces  of  the  stage-coach, 
on  the  cross-road,  through  the  fields. 

"  They  are  not  coming,"  said  old  Sylvester,  when 
the  sound  had  died  away  in  the  distance  ;  "  the  stage 
has  taken  the  other  road." 

"Dat  may  be,  grandfather,"  Mopsey  spoke  up, 
"  but  for  ail  dey  may  come.  Ugly  Davis,  when  he 
drive,  don't  always  turn  out  of  his  way  to  come  up 
here.  Dey  may  be  on  de  corner." 

As  Mopsey  spoke,  two  figures  appeared  on  foot  on 
the  brow  of  the  road,  which  sloped  down  toward  the 
Homestead,  through  a  feathery  range  of  graceful  lo- 


22  CHANTICLEER. 

custs.  They  were  too  far  off  to  be  distinctly  made 
out,"  but  it  was  to  be  inferred  that  they  were  travel 
lers  from  a  distance,  for  one  of  them  held  against  the 
light  some  sort  of  travelling  bag  or  portmanteau ; 
one  of  them  was  in  female  dress,  but  this  was  all  they 
could  as  yet  distinguish.  Various  conjectures  were 
ventured  as  to  their  special  character.  They  were 
unquestionably  making  for  the  Homestead,  and  it 
was  to  be  reasonably  supposed  they  were  Peabodys, 
for  strangers  were  rare  upon  that  road,  which  was 
a  by-way,  off  the  main  thoroughfare. 

The  family  gathered  on  the  extreme  out-look  of 
the  balcony,  and  watched  with  eager  curiosity  their 
approach,  which  was  slow  and  somewhat  irregular — 
the  man  did  not  aid  the  woman  in  her  progress,  but 
straggled  on  apart,  nor  did  he  seem  to  address  her 
as  they  came  on. 


CHAPTER    SECOND. 

ARRIVAL    OF    THE    MERCHANT  AND    HIS    PEOPLE. 

"  It  is  William  and  Hannah,"  said  the  Patriarch, 
towering  above  the  household  grouped  about  him, 
and  gaining  an  advantage  in  observation  from  his 
commanding  height,  "  I  am  glad  the  oldest  is  the 
first  to  come  ! " 

When  the  two  comers  reached  the  door-yard  gate 
the  man  entered  in  without  rendering  the  least  assist 
ance  or  paying  the  slightest  heed  to  his  companion, 
who  followed  humbly  in  his  track.  He  was  some 
sixty  years  of  age,  large-featured  and  inclining  to 
tallness ;  his  dress  was  oldmanish  and  plain,  consist 
ing  of  a  long-furred  beaver  hat,  a  loose  made  coat, 
and  other  apparel  corresponding,  with  low  cut  shoes. 
He  smiled  as  he  came  upon  the  balcony,  greeting 
old  Sylvester  with  a  shake  of  the  hand,  but  taking 
no  notice  whatever  either  of  the  widow,  little  Sam, 
or  Mopsey.  His  wife,  on  the  contrary,  spoke  to  all, 
but  quietly  and  submissively,  which  was  in  truth, 
her  whole  manner.  She  was  spare  and  withered, 
with  a  pinched,  colorless  face,  constrained  in  a  scared 


24  CHANTICLEER. 

and  apprehensive  look  as  though  in  constant  dread 
of  an  impending  violence  or  injury.  Over  one  eye 
she  wore  a  green  patch,  which  greatly  heightened 
the  pallor  and  strangeness  of  her  features. 

"  Where's  the  Captain  and  Henrietta  ? "  old  Syl 
vester  asked  when  the  greetings  were  over. 

"  They  started  from  the  city  in  a  chay,"  he  was 
answered  by  William  Peabody,  "  some  hours  before 
us, — the  captain, — seaman — way  of  driving  irreg'lar. 
Nobody  can  tell  what  road  he  may  have  got  into. 
Should'nt  be  surprised  if  did'nt  arrive  till  to-mor 
row  morning.  Will  always  have  high-actioned 
horse.'' 

William  Peabody  had  scarcely  spoken  when  there 
arose  in  the  distance  down  the  road,  a  violent  cloud 
of  dust,  from  which  there  emerged  a  two-wheeled 
vehicle  at  a  thundering  pace,  and  which,  in  less  than 
a  minute's  time,  went  whirling  past  the  Homestead. 
It  was  supposed  to  contain  Captain  Saltonstall  and 
wife ;  but  what  with  the  speed  and  dust,  no  eye 
could  have  guessed  with  any  accuracy  who  or  what 
they  were.  In  less  than  a  minute  more  it  came 
sweeping  back  with  the  great  white  horse,  passing 
the  house  again  like  an  apparition,  or  the  ghost  of  a 


ARRIVAL  OF  THE  MERCHANT  AND  HIS  PEOPLE.      25 

horse  and  gig.  With  another  sally  down  the  road 
and  return,  with  a  long  curve  in  the  road  before  the 
Homestead,  it  at  last  came  to  at  the  gate,  and  dis 
closed  in  a  high  sweat  and  glowing  all  over  his  huge 
person,  the  jovial  Captain,  and  at  his  side  his  pretty 
little  cherry-faced  girl  of  a  wife,  Henrietta  Peabody, 
daughter  of  William  Peabody,  who,  be  it  known,  is 
old  Sylvester's  oldest  son.  There  also  emerged  from 
the  one-horse  gig,  after  the  captain  had  made  ground, 
and  jumped  his  little  wife  to  the  same  landing  in  his 
arms,  a  red-faced  boy,  who  must  have  been  closely 
stowed  somewhere,  for  he  came  out  of  the  vehicle 
highly  colored,  and  looking  very  much  as  if  he  had 
been  sat  upon  for  a  couple  of  hours  or  more.  The 
Captain  having  freed  his  horse  from  the  traces,  and 
at  old  Sylvester's  suggestion,  set  him  loose  in  the 
door-yard  to  graze  at  his  leisure,  rushed  forward  upon 
the  balcony  very  much  in  the  character  of  a  good 
natured  tornado,  saluted  the  widow  Margaret  with  a 
whirlwind  kiss,  threw  little  Sam  high  in  the  air  and 
caught  him  as  he  came  within  half  an  inch  of  the 
ground,  shook  the  old  grandfather's  readily  extended 
hand  with  a  sturdy  grasp,  and  wound  up,  for  a  mo 
ment,  with  a  great  cuff  on  the  side  of  the  head  with 
2 


26  CHANTICLEER. 

a  roll  of  stuff  for  a  new  gown  for  Mopsey,  saying  as 
he  delivered  it,  "  Dere,  what  d'ye  say  to  dat,  Darkey !" 

Darkey  brightened  into  a  sort  of  nocturnal  illumi 
nation,  and  shuffling  away,  in  the  loose  shoes,  to  the 
keeping  of  which  on  her  feet  the  better  half  of  the 
best  energies  of  her  life  were  directed,  gave  out  that 
she  must  be  looking  after  dinner. 

It  was  but  for  a  moment  only  that  the  Captain 
paused,  and  in  less  than  five  minutes  he  had  said  and 
done  so  many  good-natured  things,  had  shown  him 
self  so  free  of  heart  withal,  and  so  little  considerate 
of  self  or  the  figure  he  cut,  that  in  spite  of  his  great 
clumsy  person,  and  the  gash  in  his  face,  and  the 
somewhat  exorbitant  character  of  his  dress,  his  coat 
being  a  bob  as  long  and  straight  in  the  line  across 
the  back,  as  the  edge  of  a  table,  you  could  not  help 
regarding  him  as  a  decidedly  well  made,  well  dressed, 
and  quite  handsome  person ;  in  fact  the  Captain 
passed  with  the  whole  family  for  a  fine-looking  man. 

"  Where's  my  little  girl  Miriam  ?  "  asked  the  jovial 
Captain,  after  a  moment's  rest  in  a  seat  by  the  side 
of  old  Sylvester.  "  I  must  see  my  Dolphin,  or  she'll 
think  I'm  growing  old." 

Being  advised  that  the  young  lady  in  question 


ARRIVAL  OF  THE  MERCHANT  AND  HIS  PEOPLE.   27 

was  somewhere  within,  the  Captain  rushed  into  the 
house,  pursued  by  all  the  family  in  a  body,  save  Wil 
liam  Peabody,  who  remained  with  old  Sylvester,  seat 
ed  and  in  silence. 

"  How  go  matters  in  the  city,  William  ?"  he  said, 
removing  his  hand  from  his  brow,  where  it  had  rested 
in  contemplation  for  several  minutes. 

"  After  the  old  fashion,  father,"  William  Peabody 
answered,  smiling  with  a  fox-like  glance  at  his  father ; 
"  added  three  new  houses  to  my  property  since  last 
year." 

"  Three  new  houses  ?" 

Three,  all  of  brick, — good   streets — built  in  the 
latest  style.     The  city  grows  and  I  grow  !" 

"  Three  new  houses,  and  all  in  the  latest  style — 
and  how  does  Margaret's  little  property  pay?" 

"  Poorly,  father,  poorly.  Elbridge  made  a  bad 
choice  when  he  bought  it — greatly  out  of  repair — 
rents  come  slowly." 

"  In  a  word,  the  old  story,  the  widow  gets  nothing 
again  from  the  city.  I  had  hopes  you  would  be  able 
to  bring  her  some  returns  this  time,  for  she  needs  it 
sadly." 


28  CHANTICLEER. 

"  I  do  the  best  I  can,  but  money's  not  to  be  got 
out  of  stone  walls." 

"  And  you  have  three  new  houses  which  pay  well," 
old  Sylvester  continued,  turning  his  calm  blue  eye 
steadily  upon  his  son. 

"  Capital — best  in  the  city !  Already  worth  twice 
I  gave  for  'em.  The  city  grows  and  I  grow !" 

"  My  son,  do  you  never  think  of  that  other  house 
reserved  for  us  all  ?" 

William  Peabody  was  about  to  answer,  it  was  non 
sense  for  a  man  only  sixty  and  in  sound  condition  of 
body  and  mind  to  think  too  much  of  that,  when  his 
eye,  ranging  across  the  fields,  espied  in  shadow  as  it 
were,  through  the  dim  atmosphere,  the  mist  clearing 
away  a  little  in  that  direction,  an  old  sorrel  horse — a 
long  settler  with  the  family  and  well-known  to  all  its 
members — staggering  about  feebly  in  a  distant  orch 
ard,  and  in  her  wanderings  stumbling  against  the 
trees. — "  Is  old  Sorrel  blind  ?"  he  asked,  shading  his 
own  eyes  from  the  light. 

"  She  is,  William,"  old  Sylvester  replied ;  "  her 
sight  went  from  her  last  New- Year's  day." 

"  My  birth-day,"  said  the  merchant,  a  sudden  pallor 
coming  upon  his  countenance. 


ARRIVAL  OF  THE  MERCHANT  AND  HIS  PEOPLE.      29 

"  Yes,  you  and  old  Sorrel  are  birth-mates,  my  son." 

"  We  are ;  she  was  foaled  the  day  I  was  born,"  said 
William  Peabody,  and  added,  as  to  himself,  musing 
ly,  "  Old  Sorrel  is  blind  !  So  we  pass — so  we  pass — 
young  to-day — to-morrow  old — limbs  fail  us — sight 
is  gone." 

They  sat  silently,  contemplating  the  still  morning 
scene  before  them,  and  meditating,  each  in  his  own 
particular  way,  on  the  history  of  the  past. 

To  William,  the  merchant,  it  brought  chiefly  a  re 
collection  how  in  his  early  manhood  he  had  set  out 
from  those  quiet  fields  for  a  hard  struggle  with  the 
world,  with  a  bare  dollar  in  his  pocket,  and  when 
that  was  gone  the  whole  world  seemed  to  combine  in 
a  desperate  league  against  him  to  prevent  his  achiev 
ing  another.  How  at  last,  on  the  very  edge  of  star 
vation  and  despair,  he  had  wrung  from-  it  the  means 
of  beginning  his  fortunes ;  and  how  he  had  gone  on 
step  by  step,  forgetting  all  the  pleasant  ties  of  his 
youth,  all  recollections  of  nature  and  cheerful  faces 
of  friends  and  kinsfolk,  adding  thousand  to  thousand, 
house  to  house ;  building,  unlike  Jacob,  a  ladder,  that 
descended  to  the  lower  world,  up  which  all  harsh  and 
dark  spirits  perpetually  thronged  and  joined  to  drag 


30  CHANTICLEER. 

him  down ;  and  yet  he  smiled  grimly  at  the  though'! 
of  the  power  he  possessed,  and  how  many  of  his  early 
companions  trembled  before  him  because  he  was 
grown  to  be  a  rich  man. 

Old  Sylvester,  on  the  other  hand,  in  all  his  memory 
had  no  thought  of  himself.  His  recollection  ran  back 
to  the  old  times  when  his  neighbors  sat  down  under  a 
king's  sceptre  in  these  colonies,  how  that  chain  had 
been  freed,  the  gloomy  Indian  had  withdrawn  his 
face  from  their  fields,  how  the  darkness  of  the  woods 
had  retired  before  the  cheering  sun  of  peace  and 
plenty  ;  and  how  from  a  little  people,  his  dear  coun 
try,  for  whose  welfare  his  sword  had  been  stained, 
had  grown  into  a  great  nation.  Scattered  up  and 
down  the  long  line  of  memory  were  faces  of  friends 
and  kindred,  which  had  passed  long  ago  from  the 
earth.  He  called  to  mind  many  a  pleasant  fire-side 
chat ;  many  a  funeral  scene,  and  burying  in  sun-light 
and  in  the  cold  rain ;  the  young  Elbridge  too  was  in 
his  thoughts  last  of  all ;  could  he  return  to  them  with 
a  name  untainted,  the  old  man  would  cheerfully  lie 
down  in  his  grave  and  be  at  peace  with  all  the  world. 

In  the  meanwhile,  within  the  house  the  Captain  in 
high  favor  was  seated  in  a  great  cushioned  arm-chair 


ARRIVAL  OF  THE  MERCHANT  AND  HIS  PEOPLE.      31 

with  little  Sam  Peabody  on  his  knee,  and  the  women 
of  the  house  gathered  about  him,  looking  on  as  he 
narrated  the  courses  and  adventures  of  his  last  voy 
age.  The  widow  listened  with  a  sad  interest.  Mop- 
sey  rolled  her  eyes  and  was  mirthful  in  the  most  seri 
ous  and  stormiest  passages  ;  while  little  Sam  and  the 
Captain's  wife  rivalled  each  other  in  regarding  the 
Captain  with  innocent  wonder  and  astonishment,  as 
though  he  were  the  most  extraordinary  man  that 
ever  sailed  the  sea,  or  sat  in  a  chair  telling  about  it, 
in  the  whole  habitable  globe.  Miriam  Haven  alone 
was  distant  from  the  scene,  gliding  to  and  fro  past 
the  door,  busied  in  household  duties  in  a  neighboring 
apartment,  and  catching  a  word  here  and  there  as  she 
glanced  by. 

It  was  a  wonderful  story,  certainly,  the  Captain  was 
telling,  and  it  seemed  beyond  all  belief  that  it  could 
be  true  that  one  man  could  have  seen  the  whales,  the 
icebergs,  the  floating  islands,  the  ships  in  the  air,  the 
sea-dogs,  and  grampuses,  the  flying-fish,  the  pirates, 
and  the  thousand  other  wonders  the  Captain  reported 
to  have  crossed  his  path  in  a  single  trip  across  the 
simple  Atlantic  and  back.  He  also  averred  to  have 
distinctly  seen  the  sea-serpent,  and  what  was  more, 


32 


CHANTICLEER. 


to  have  had  a  conversation  with  a  ship  in  the  very 
middle  of  the  ocean.  Was  there  anything  wonder 
ful  in  that  ?  it  occurs  every  day — but  listen  to  the 
jovial  Captain  !— a  ship— and  he  had  news  to  tell 
them  of  one  they  would  like  to  hear  about.  They 
pressed  close  to  the  Captain  and  listened  breathlessly; 
Miriam  Haven  pausing  in  her  task,  and  stopping 
stone-still  like  a  statue,  in  the  door,  while  her  very 
heart  stayed  its  beating. 

Go  on — Captain — go  on — go  on  ! 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  ;  we  were  in  latitude — 
no  matter,  you  don't  care  about  that — we  had  just 
come  out  of  a  great  gale,  which  made  the  sea  pitch- 
dark  about  us ;  when  the  first  beam  of  the  sun 
opened  the  clouds,  we  found  ourselves  along  side  a 
ship  with  the  old  stars  and  stripes  flying  like  a  bird 
at  the  mast-head.  There  was  a  sight,  my  hearties. 
We  hailed  her,  she  hailed  us,  we  threw  her  papers, 
she  threw  us,  and  we  parted  forever." 

''Is  that  all?" 

"  Not  half.  One  of  these  was  a  list  of  passengers ; 
I  run  my  eye  up,  and  I  run  my  eye  down,  and  there, 
shining  out  like  a  star  amongst  them  all,  I  find, 
whose  d'ye  think — Elbridge  Peabody — as  large  as  life." 


ARRIVAL  OF  THE  MERCHANT  AND  HIS  PEOPLE.      33 

Miriam  Haven  staggered  against  the  door-post,- 
the  widow  fell  upon  her  knees,  "  Thank  God,  my 
boy  is  heard  from." 

Little  Sam  Peabody  darted  from  the  Captain's 
knee  and  rushed  upon  the  balcony,  crying  at  the  top 
of  his  lungs,  "  Grandfather,  brother  Elbridge  is  heard 
from." 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  William  Peabody ;  the 
poor  old  blind  sorrel  had  disappeared  from  sight  into 
a  piece  of  woods  near  the  orchard,  and  the  merchant 
had  quite  recovered  his  usual  way  of  speaking. 
"  Never  will  believe  it.  You  hav'nt  heard  of  that 
youngster, — never  will.  Always  knew  he  would  run 
away  some  day — never  come  back  again." 

The  Captain's  story  was  rapidly  explaihed  by  the 
different  members  of  the  family,  who  had  followed 
little  Sam,  to  repeat  it  to  old  Sylvester,  each  in  her 
own  way.  Miriam  and  Hannah  Peabody,  who  at 
sound  of  the  commotion  had  come  forth  from  an 
inner  chamber,  whither  she  had  been  retired  by  her 
self,  joined  the  company  of  lookers  on. 

"  What  all  amount  to,"  he  continued,  in  his  pecu 
liar  clipped  style  of   speech,    "Expect  to  see  him 
2* 


34  CHANTICLEER. 

again,  do  you.  Mighty  fine  chance — where  going 
to?" 

The  Captain  could'nt  tell. 

"  One  of  the  Captain's  fine  stories — no — no — if 
that  boy  ever  comes  back  again,  I'll — " 

There  was  a  deep  silence  to  hear  what  the  hard 
old  merchant  proposed. 

"  I'll  hand  over  to  him  the  management  of  his 
late  father's  property,  he  was  always  hankering  after, 
and  thought  he  could  make  so  much  more  of  than 
his  hard-fisted  old  uncle." 

This  was  a  comfortable  proposition,  and  little  Sam 
Peabody,  as  though  it  were  a  great  pear  or  red  pip 
pin  that  was  spoken  of,  running  to  his  mother,  said, 

"  Mother,  I'd  take  it." 

"  I  do,"  said  the  widow,  "  and  call  you  all  to 
witness." 

William  Peabody  smiled  grimly  on  Margaret ;  his 
countenance  darkened  suddenly,  and  he  was,  no 
doubt,  on  the  point  of  retracting  his  confident  offer, 
when  his  wife  uttered  in  an  under  tone,  half  entreaty, 
half  authority,  "  William,"  at  the  same  time  turning 
on  her  husband  the  side  of  the  countenance  which 
wore  the  green  shade.  He  stifled  what  he  intended 


ARRIVAL  OF  THE  MERCHANT  AND  HIS  PEOPLE.      35 

to  utter,  and  shifting  uneasily  in  his  seat,  he  looked 
toward  the  city  and  was  silent.  Whatever  the  rea 
son,  it  was  clear  that  when  they  were  seated  at  the 
table,  partaking  of  the  meal,  it  was  Captain  Salton- 
stall  that  had  the  best  attention  from  every  member 
of  the  household,  (and  the  best  of  the  dish,)  from 
all  save  old  Sylvester,  who  held  himself  erect,  as 
usual,  and  impartial  in  the  matter. 

"  The  ways  of  Providence  are  strange,"  said  old 
Sylvester,  "Out  of  darkness  he  brings  marvellous 
light,  and  from  the  frivolous  acorn  he  spreads  the 
branches  wide  in  the  air,  which  are  a  shelter,  and  a 
solace,  and  a  shadowy  play-ground  to  our  youth  and 
old  age.  We  must  wait  the  issue,  and  whatever 
comes,  to  Him  must  we  give  thanks." 

With  this  sentiment  for  a  benediction,  the  patri 
arch  dismissed  his  family  to  their  slumbers,  which  to 
each  one  of  the  household  brought  its  peculiar  train 
of  speculation ;  to  two,  at  least,  Miriam  and  the 
widow  Margaret,  they  brought  dreams  which  only 
the  strong  light  of  day  could  disprove  to  be  realities. 


CHAPTER    THIRD. 

THE    FARMER-FOLKS    FROM    THE    WEST. 

WITH  the  following  day,  (which  was  cairn,  gentle, 
and  serene  as  its  predecessor,)  a  little  after  the  dis 
patch  of  dinner,  the  attention  of  the  household  was 
summoned  to  the  clatter  of  a  hurrying  wagon,  which, 
unseen,  resounded  in  the  distant  country.  Old  Syl 
vester  was  the  first  to  hear  it — faintly  at  first,  then  it 
rose  on  the  wind  far  oif,  died  away  in  the  woods  and 
the  windings  of  the  roads,  then  again  was  entirely 
lost  for  several  minutes,  and  at  last  growing  into  a 
portentous  rattle,  brought  to  at  the  door  of  the  home 
stead,  and  landed  from  its  ricketty  and  bespattered 
bosom  Mr.  Oliver  Peabody,  of  Ohio  ;  Jane  his  wife, 
a  buxom  lady  of  fair  complexion,  in  a  Quaker  bon 
net  ;  and  Robert,  their  eldest  son,  a  tall,  flat-featured 
boy,  some  thirteen  years  of  age. 

The  countryman  in  a  working  shirt,  who  had  the 
control  of  the  wagon,  and  who  had  been  beguiled  by 
Oliver  some  five  miles  out  of  his  road  home,  (to  which 
he  was  returning  from  the  market  town,)  under  pre 
tence  of  a  wish  to  have  his  opinion  of  the  crops — the 


THE  FARMER  TOLKS  FROM  THE  WEST.      37 

poor  fellow  being  withal  a  hired  laborer  and  never 
having  owned,  or  entertained  the  remotest  speculation 
of  owning,  a  rood  of  ground  of  his  own, — with  a  com 
mendation  from  Oliver,  delivered  with  a  cheerful 
smile,  that  "  his  observations  on  timothy  were  very 
much  to  the  purpose,"  drove  clattering  away  again. 
Mr.  Oliver  Peabody,  farmer,  who  had  come  all  the 
way  from  Ohio  to  spend  thanksgiving  with  his  old 
father — of  a  ruddy,  youthful  and  twinkling  counte 
nance — who  wore  his  hair  at  length  and  unshorn, 
and  the  chief  peculiarity  of  whose  dress  was  a  grey 
cloth  coat,  with  a  row  of  great  horn-buttons  on  either 
breast,  with  enormous  woollen  mittens,  brought  his 
buxom  wife  forward  under  one  arm  with  diligence, 
drawing  his  tall  youth  of  a  son  after  him  by  the  other 
nan(} — threw  himself  into  the  bosom  of  the  Peabody 
family,  and  was  heartily  welcomed  all  round.  He 
didn't  say  a  word  of  half-horses  and  half-alligators, 
nor  of  greased  lightning,  although  he  was  from  the 
West,  but  he  did  complain  most  bitterly  of  the  un 
common  smoothness  of  the  roads  in  these  parts,  the 
short  grass,  and  the  'bominable  want  of  elbow-room 
all  over  the  neighborhood.  It  was  with  difficulty  he 
could  be  kept  on  the  straitened  stage  of  the  balcony 


38  CHANTICLEER. 

long  enough  to  answer  a  few  plain  questions  of  chil 
dren  and  other  matters  at  home ;  and  immediately 
expressed  an  ardent  desire  to  take  a  look  at  the 
garden. 

"  We  got  somefin'  to  show  thar,  Mas'r  Oliver," 
said  Mopsey,  who  had  stood  by  listening,  with  open 
mouth  and  eyes,  to  the  strong  statements  of  the 
western  farmer,  "  we  haint  to  be  beat  right-away  no 
how !" 

Old  Sylvester  rose  with  his  staff,  which  he  carried 
more  for  pleasure  than  necessity,  and  led  the  way. 
As  they  approached  there  was  visible  through  all  the 
plants,  shrubs  and  other  growths  of  the  place,  what 
ever  they  might  be — a  great  yellow  sphere  or  ball, 
so  disposed,  on  a  little  slope  by  itself,  as  to  catch  the 
eye  from  a  distance,  shining  out  in  its  golden  hue 
from  the  garden,  a  sort  of  rival  to  the  sun  himself, 
rolling  overhead. 

"Dere,  what  d'ye  tink  of  dat,  Oliver,"  Mopsey 
asked,  forgetting  in  the  grandeur  of  the  moment  all 
distinctions  of  class  or  color,  "  I  guess  dat's  some- 
fin." 

"That's  a  pumpkin,"  said  Mr.  Oliver  Peabody, 
calmly. 


THE  FARMER- FOLKS  FROM  THE  WEST.      39 

"  Yes,  I  guess  it  is — de  tanJcsgivin  punJcin  /" 

She  looked  into  the  western  farmer's  face,  no  doubt 
expecting  a  spasm  or  convulsion,  but  it  was  calm — 
calm  as  night.  Mopsey  condescended  not  another 
word,  but  walking  or  rather  shuffling  disdainfully 
away,  muttered  to  herself,  "  Dat  is  de  very  meanest 
man,  for  a  white  man,  I  ever  did  see ;  he  looked  at 
dat  'ere  punkin  which  has  cost  me  so  many  anx 
ious  days  and  sleepless  nights — which  I  have  watched 
over  as  thoughf  it  had  been  my  own  child— which  I 
planted  wid  dis  here  hand  of  my  own,  and  fought  for 
agin  the  June  bugs  and  the  white  frost,  and  dat  mouse 
dat's  been  tryin  to  eat  it  up  for  dis  tree  weeks  and 
Better — -just  as  if  it  had  been  a  small  green  cowcum- 
ber.  I  don't  believe  dat  Oliver  Peabody  knows  it  is 
tanksgivin'.  He's  a  great  big  fool." 

"  I  see  you  still  keep  some  of  the  old  red  breed, 
father,"  said  Oliver  when  they  were  left  alone  in  the 
quiet  of  the  garden,  pointing  to  the  red  rooster,  who 
stood  on  the  wall  in  the  sun. 

"  Yes,"  old  Sylvester  answered,  "  for  old  times' 
sake.  We  have  had  them  with  us  now  on  the  fau- 
for  better  than  a  hundred  years.  I  remember  the  day 
the  great  grandfather  of  this  bird  was  brought  among 


40  CHANTICLEER. 

us.  It  was  the  day  we  got  news  that  good  David 
Brainard,  the  Indian  missionary,  died — that  was  some 
while  before  the  revolutionary  war.  He  died  in  the 
arms  of  the  great  Jonathan  Edwards,  at  Northamp 
ton  ;  their  souls  are  at  peace." 

"  I  recollect  this  fellow,"  Oliver  continued,  refer 
ring  to  the  red  rooster,  "  When  I  was  here  last  he 
was  called  Elbridge's  bird,  that  was  the  year  before 
last." 

"  There  is  no  Elbridge  now,"  said  the  old  grand* 

father. 

"  I  know  all,"  said  Oliver,  "  I  had  a  letter  from 
Margaret,  felling  me  the  story  and  begging  me  to 
keep  a  watch  for  her  boy." 

"  A  wide  watch  to  keep  and  little  to  be  got  by  it, 
I  fear,"  old  Sylvester  added. 

"  Not  altogether  idle,  perhaps  ;  we  have  sharp  eyes 
in  the  West  and  see  many  strange  things.  Jane  is 
confident  she  saw  our  Elbridge,  making  through 
Ohio,  but  two  months  after  he  left  here ;  he  was  ri 
ding  swiftly,  and  in  her  surprise  and  suddenness  she 
could  neither  call  nor  send  after  him." 

"  You  did  not  tell  us  of  that,"   said  the  old  man. 

"  No,  I  waited  some  further  discovery." 


THE    FARMER-FOLKS    FROM   THE    WEST.  41 

"  Be  silent  now,  you  may  easily  waken  hopes  to  be 
darkened  and  dashed  to  the  ground.  Which  way 
made  the  boy  ? " 

"  Southward." 

During  this  discourse,  as  though  he  distinguished 
the  sound  of  his  young  master's  name  and  knew  to 
what  it  related,  Chanticleer  walked  slowly,  and  as  if 
by  accident  or  at  leisure,  up  and  down  the  garden- 
wall,  keeping  as  near  to  the  speakers  as  was  at  all 
seemly.  When  they  stopped  speaking  he  leaped 
gently  to  the  ground  and  softly  clapped  his  wings. 

A  moment  after  there  came  hurrying  into  the 
garden,  in  a  wild  excitement,  and  all  struggling  to 
speak  first,  little  Sam  Peabody  in  the  lead,  Robert, 
the  flat-featured  youth  of  thirteen,  and  Peabody 
Junior,  (who,  it  should  be  mentioned,  having  found  his 
way  into  a  pantry  a  couple  of  minutes  after  his  arri 
val  with  the  Captain,  and  appropriated  to  his  own 
personal  use  an  entire  bottle  of  cherry  brandy,  had 
been  straightway  put  to  bed,  from  which  he  had  now 
been  released  not  more  than  a  couple  of  hours),  and 
to  announce  as  clamorously  as  they  respectively 
could,  that  Brundage's  Bull  had  just  got  into  "  our 
big  meadow." 


42  CHANTICLEER. 

"  Nobody  hurt  ?"  asked  old  Sylvester. 

"  Nobody  hurt,  grandfather,  but  he's  ploughing 
up  the  meadow  at  a  dreadful  rate,"  said  little  Sam 
Peabody. 

"  Like  wild,"  Peabody  Junior  added. 

This  statement,  strongly  as  it  was  made,  seemed 
to  have  no  particular  effect  on  old  Sylvester.  Oliver 
Peabody,  on  the  other  hand,  was  exceedingly  indig 
nant,  and  was  for  proceeding  to  extremities  imme 
diately,  the  expulsion  of  the  Brundage  bull,  and  the 
demanding  of  damages  for  allowing  his  cattle  to  cross 
the  boundary  line  of  the  two  farms. 

Old  Sylvester  listened  to  his  violence  with  a  blank 
countenance ;  nor  did  he  seem  to  comprehend  that 
any  special  outrage  had  been  committed,  for  it  must 
be  acknowledged  that  the  only  indication  that  the 
grandfather  had  come  to  his  second  childhood  was, 
that,  with  his  advancing  years,  and  as  he  approach 
ed  the  shadow  of  the  other  world,  he  seemed  to  have 
lost  all  idea  of  the  customary  distinctions  of  rank 
and  property,  and  that  very  much  like  an  old  apos 
tle,  he  was  disposed  to  regard  all  men  as  brethren, 
and  boundary  lines  as  of  very  little  consequence. 

He  therefore  promptly  checked  his  son  Oliver  in 


THE    FARMER-FOLKS    FROM    THE    WEST.  43 

his  heat,  and  discountenanced  any  further  proceedings 
in  the  matter. 

"  Brundage,"  he  said,  "  would,  if  he  cared  about 
him,  come  and  take  his  bull  away  when  he  was 
ready  ;  we  are  all  brethren,  and  have  a  common 
country,  Oliver,"  he  added,  "  I  hope  you  feel  that 
in  the  West,  as  well  as  we  do  here." 

"  Thank  God,  we  have,"  Oliver  rejoined  with  em 
phasis,  "  and  we  love  it !" 

"  I  thank  God  for  that  too,"  old  Sylvester  replied, 
striking  his  staff  firmly  on  the  ground,  "  I  remember 
well,  my  son,  when  your  great  state  was  a  wilderness 
of  woods  and  savage  men,  and  now  this  common 
sky — look  at  it,  Oliver — which  shines  so  clearly  above 
us,  is  yours  as  well  as  ours." 

"  I  fear  me,  father,  one  day,  bright,  beautiful,  and 
wide-arched  as  it  is,  the  glorious  Union  may  fall," 
said  Oliver,  laying  his  hand  upon  an  aged  tree  which 
stood  near  them,  "  may  fall,  and  the  states  drop,  one 
by  one  away,  even  as  the  fruit  I  shake  to  the  ground." 

As  though  he  had  been  a  tower  standing  on  an 
elevation,  old  Sylvester  Peabody  rose  aloft  to  his  full 
height,  as  if  he  would  clearly  contemplate  the  far  past, 
the  distant,  and  the  broad-coming  future. 


44  CHANTICLEER. 

"  The  Union  fall !"  lie  cried.  "  Look  above,  my 
son  !  The  Union  fall !  as  long  as  the  constellations 
of  evening  live  together  in  yonder  sky  ;  look  down, 
as  long  as  the  great  rivers  of  our  land  flow  eastward 
and  westward,  north  and  south,  the  Union  shall  stand 
up,  and  stand  majestical  and  bright,  beheld  by  ages, 
as  these  shall  be,  an  orb  and  living  stream  of  glory 
unsurpassable." 

The  children  were  gathered  about,  and  watched  with 
eager  eyes  and  glowing  cheeks,  the  countenance  of 
the  grandfather  as  he  spoke. 

"  No,  no,  my  son,"  he  added,  "  there's  many  a  true 
heart  in  brave  Ohio,  as  in  every  state  of  ours,  or  they 
could  not  be  the  noble  powers  they  are." 

While  old  Sylvester  spoke,  Oliver  Peabody  wrench 
ed  with  some  violence,  from  the  tree  near  which  they 
stood,  a  stout  limb,  on  the  end  of  which  he  employed 
himself  with  a  knife  in  shaping  a  substantial  knob. 

"  What  weapon  is  that  you  are  busy  with,  Oliver?" 
old  Sylvester  asked. 

"  It's  for  that  nasty  bull,"  Oliver  replied.  "  I  would 
break  every  bone  in  his  body  rather  than  let  him  re 
main  for  a  single  minute  on  my  land;  the  further 
ance  of  law  and  order  demands  the  instant  enforce 
ment  of  one's  rights." 


THE    FARMER-FOLKS    FROM   THE    WEST.  45 

"  You  are  a  friend  of  law  and  order,  my  son." 

"  I  think  I  am,"  Oliver  answered,  standing  erect 
and  planting  his  club,  in  the  manner  of  Hercules  in 
the  pictures,  head  down  on  the  ground. 

"  I  hope  you  are,  Oliver ;  but  I  fear  you  forget  the 
story  I  used  to  tell  of  my  old  friend  Bulkley,  of  Dan- 
bury,  who,  being  written  to  by  some  neighboring 
Christians  who  were  in  sore  dissension,  for  advise 
ment,  gave  them  back  word : — Every  man  to  look 
after  his  own  fence,  that  it  be  built  high  and  strong, 
and  to  have  a  special  care  of  the  old  Black  Bull ; 
meaning  thereby  no  doubt,  our  own  wicked  passions ; 
— that  is  the  true  Christian  way  of  securing  peace 
and  good  order." 

Oliver  threw  his  great  trespass-club  upon  the 
ground,  and  was  on  the  point  of  asking  after  an  old 
sycamore,  the  largest  growth  of  all  that  country, 
which,  standing  in  a  remote  field  had,  in  the  peril 
ous  times  sheltered  many  of  the  Peabody  family  in 
its  bosom — when  he  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
appearance  of  Mopsey  in  a  flutter  of  cap-strings,  shuf 
fling  shoes,  and  a  flying  color  in  her  looks  of  at  least 
double  the  usual  depth  of  darkness.  It  was  just  dis 
covered  that  the  poultry-house  had  been  broken  into 


46  CHANTICLEER. 

over  night,  and  four  of  the  fattest  hens  taken  off  by 
the  throat  and  legs,  besides  sundry  of  the  inferior 
members  of  the  domicile  ;  as  wicked  a  theft,  Mopsey 
said,  as  ever  was,  and  she  hadn't  the  slightest  hesita 
tion  in  charging  it  on  them  niggers  in  the  Hills,  (a 
neighboring  settlement  of  colored  people,  who  lived 
from  hand  to  mouth,  and  seemed  to  be  fed,  like  the 
ravens  by  some  mystery  of  providence.) 

Oliver  Peabody  watched  closely  the  countenance 
of  the  patriarch,  not  a  little  curious  to  learn  what 
effect  this  announcement  would  have  upon  his  tem 
per. 

"This  is  all  our  own  fault,"  said  old  Sylvester, 
promptly.  "  We  should  have  remembered  this  was 
thanksgiving  time,  and  sent  them  something  to  stay 
their  stomachs.  Poor  creatures,  I  always  wondered 
how  they  got  along  !  Send  'em  some  bread,  Mop 
sey,  for  they  never  can  do  anything  with  fowls  with 
out  bread !" 

"  Send  'em  some  bread !"  Mopsey  rejoined,  grow 
ing  blacker  and  more  ugiy  of  look  as  she  spoke : 
"  Send  'em  whips,  and  an  osifer  of  the  law ! — the  four 
fattest  of  the  coop." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  old  Sylvester. 


THE    FARMER-FOLKS    FROM    THE    WEST.  4*7 

"  Six  of  the  ten'drest  young'uns !" 

"  Never  mind  that,"  said  old  Sylvester. 

"  I'd  have  them  all  in  the  county  jail  before  sun 
down,"  urged  Mopsey. 

"  Oliver,  we  will  go  in  to  tea,"  continued  the  patri 
arch.  "  We  have  enough  for  tea,  Mopsey  3" 

"  Yes,  quite  enough,  Mas'r." 

"  Then,"  cried  the  old  man,  striking  his  staff  on  the 
ground  with  great  violence,  rising  to  his  full  height, 
and  glowing  like  a  furnace,  upon  Mopsey,  "  then,  I 
say,  send  'em  some  bread  !" 

This  speech,  delivered  in  a  voice  of  authority,  sent 
Mopsey,  shuffling  and  cowering,  away,  without  a 
word,  and  brought  the  sweat  of  horror  to  the  brow  of 
Oliver,  which  he  proceeded  to  remove  with  a  great 
cotton  pocket-handkerchief,  produced  from  his  coat 
behind,  on  which  was  displayed  in  glowing  colors,  by 
some  cunning  artist,  the  imposing  scene  of  the  sign 
ers  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  getting  ready 
to  affix  their  names.  Mr.  Oliver  Peabody  was  the 
politician  of  the  family,  and  always  had  the  immor 
tal  Declaration  of  Independence  at  his  tongue's  end, 
or  in  hand. 


CHAPTER  FOURTH. 

THE  FORTUNES  OF  THE  FAMILY  CONSIDERED. 

WHEN  Oliver  and  old  Sylvester  entered  the  house 
they  found  all  of  the  family  gathered  within,  save 
the  children,  who  loitered  about  the  doors  and  win 
dows,  looking  in,  anxious-eyed,  on  the  preparations 
for  tea  going  forward  under  the  direction  of  tho 
widow  Margaret,  and  Mopsey.  The  other  women  of 
the  household  were  busy  with  a  discussion  of  the 
merits  of  Mrs.  Carrack,  of  Boston,  the  fashionable 
lady  of  the  family. 

"  I  should  like  to  see  Mrs.  Carrack  above  all 
things,"  said  the  Captain's  pretty  little  wife,  "  she 
must  be  a  fine  woman  from  all  I  have  heard  of  her." 

"  Thee  will  have  small  chance,  I  fear,  child," 
said  Mrs.  Jane  Peabody,  sitting  buxomly  in  an  easy 
arm  chair,  which  she  had  quietly  assumed,  "  she  is 
too  fine  for  the  company  of  us  plain  folks  in  every 
point  of  view." 

"  It's  five  years  since  she  was  here,"  the  widow 


THE    FORTUNES    OF    THE    FAMILY    CONSIDERED.      49 

suggested  as  she  adjusted  the  chairs  around  the  table, 
"  she  said  she  never  would  come  inside  the  house 
again,  because  the  best  bed-chamber  was  not  given 
to  her — I  am  sorry  to  say  it." 

"  She's  a  heathen  and  wicked  woman,"  Mopsey 
said,  shuffling  at  the  door,  and  turning  back  on  her 
way  to  the  kitchen — "  your  poor  boy  was  lying  low 
of  a  fever  and  how  could  she  expect  it." 

"  In  one  point  of  view  she  may  come;  her  husband 
was  living  then,"  continued  Mrs.  Jane  Peabody, 
"  she  has  become  a  rich  woman  since,  and  may  honor 
us  with  a  visit — to  show  us  how  great  a  person  she  has 
got  to  be — let  her  come — it  need'nt  trouble  thee,  nor 
me,  I'm  sure."  Mrs.  Jane  Peabody  smoothed  her 
Quaker  Vandyke,  and  sat  stiffly  in  her  easy  chair. 

Old  Sylvester  entering  at  that  moment,  laid  aside 
his  staff  and  broad-brimmed  hat,  which  little  Sam 
Peabody  ran  in  to  take  charge  of,  and  took  his  seat 
at  the  head  of  the  table  ;  the  Captain,  who  was  busy 
at  the  back-door  scouring  an  old  rusty  fowling-piece 
for  some  enterprise  he  had  in  view  in  the  morning, 
was  called  in  by  his  little  wife  ;  the  others  were  seat 
ed  in  their  places  about  the  board. 

"  Where's  William  2"  old  Sylvester  asked. 
3 


50  CHANTICLEER. 

He  was  at  a  window  in  the  front  room,  where  he 
had  sat  for  several  hours,  with  spectacles  on  his  brow, 
poring  over  an  old  faded  parchment  deed,  which 
related  to  some  neighboring  land  he  thought  belong 
ed  to  the  Peabodys,  (although  in  possession  of  others,) 
and  which  he  had  always  made  a  close  study  of  on 
his  visits  to  the  homestead.  There  was  a  dark  pas 
sage,  under  which  he  made  their  title,  which  had 
been  submitted  to  various  men  learned  in  the  law ; 
it  was  too  dark  and  doubtful,  in  their  opinion,  to 
build  a  contest  on,  and  yet  William  Peabody  gave  it 
every  year  a  new  examination,  with  the  hope,  per 
haps,  that  the  wisdom  of  advancing  age  might 
enable  him  to  fathom  and  expound  it,  although  it 
had  been  drawn  up  by  the  greatest  lawyer  of  his 
day  in  all  that  country.  His  wife  Hannah,  grieving 
in  spirit  that  her  husband  should  be  toiling  forever  in 
the  quest  of  gain,  sat  near  him,  pale,  calm  and  dis 
heartened,  but  speaking  not  a  word.  He  could  not 
look  at  her  with  that  fearful  green  shade  on  her  face, 
but  kept  his  eyes  always  fixed  on  the  old  parchment. 
When  his  aged  father  had  taken  his  seat,  and  began 
his  thanks  to  God  for  the  bounties  before  them,  as 
though  the  old  Patriarch  had  brought  a  better  spirit 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  THE  FAMILY  CONSIDERED.  51 

from  the  calm  day  without,  he  thrust  the  paper  into 
his  bosom  and  glided  to  his  place  at  the  table.  It 
would  have  done  you  good  to  hear  that  old  man's 
prayer.  He  neither  solicited  forgiveness  for  his 
enemies  nor  favors  for  his  friends  ;  for  schools, 
churches,  presidents  or  governments ;  neither  for 
health,  wealth,  worldly  welfare,  nor  for  any  single 
other  thing ;  all  he  said,  bowing  his  white  old  head, 
was  this : 

"  May  we  all  be  Christian  people  the  day  we  die — 
God  bless  us." 

That  was  all ;  and  his  kinsfolk  lost  no  appetite  in 
listening  to  it — for  it  was  no  sooner  uttered  than  they 
all  fell  to — and  not  a  word  more  was  spoken  for  five 
minutes  at  least,  nor  then  perhaps,  had  not  little  Sam 
Peabody  cried  out,  with  breathless  animation,  and 
delight  of  feature, 

"  The  pigeons,  grandfather !"  at  the  same  time 
pointing  from  the  door  to  the  evening  sky,  along 
which  they  were  winging  their  calm  and  silent  flight 
in  a  countless  train — streaming  on  westward  as 
though  there  was  no  end  to  them  ;  which  put  old 
Sylvester  upon  recalling  the  cheerful  sports  of  his 
younger  days. 


52  CHANTICLEER. 

"  I  have  taken  a  couple  of  hundred  in  a  net  on  the 
Hill  before  breakfast,  many  a  time,"  he  said.  "  You 
used  to  help  me,  William." 

"  Yes,  I  and  old  Ethan  Barbary,"  said  the  mer 
chant,  "  used  to  spring  the  net ;  you  gave  the  word." 

"  Old  Ethan  has  been  dead  many  a  day.  Ethan," 
continued  old  Sylvester,  in  explanation,  "  was  the 
father  of  our  Mr.  Barbary.  He  was  a  preacher  too, 
and  carried  a  gun  in  the  revolution.  I  remember  he 
was  accounted  a  peculiar  man.  I  never  knew  why. 
To  be  sure  he  used  to  spend  the  time  he  did  not  em 
ploy  in  prayers,  preaching  and  tending  the  sick,  in 
working  on  the  farms  about,  for  he  had  no  wages  for 
preaching.  When  there  was  none  of  that  to  be  had, 
he  took  his  basket,  and  sallying  through  the  fields, 
gathered  berries,  which  he  bestowed  on  the  needy 
families  of  the  neighborhood.  In  winter  he  collected 
branches  in  the  woods  about,  as  fire-wood  for  the 
poor." 

"  That  was  a  capital  idea,"  said  Oliver  the  poli 
tician.  "  It  must  have  made  him  very  popular." 

"  Wasn't  he  always  thought  to  be  a  little  out  of 
his  head  ?"  asked  the  merchant.  "  He  might  have 
sold  the  wood  for  a  good  price  in  the  severe  winters." 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  THE  FAMILY  CONSIDERED.   53 

"  I  remember  as  if  it  were  yesterday,"  old  Sylves 
ter  went  on  in  his  own  way,  not  heeding  in  the  slight 
est  the  suggestions  of  his  sons,  "  he  and  black  Bur 
ling,  who  is  buried  in  the  woods  by  the  Great  Wal 
nut  tree,  near  the  pond,  both  fought  in  the  American 
ranks,  and  had  but  one  gun  between  them,  which 
they  used  turn  about." 

"  You  saw  rough  times  in  those  days,  grandfather," 
said  the  Captain. 

"  I  did,  Charley,"  old  Sylvester  answered,  looking 
kindly  on  the  Captain,  who  had  always  been  some 
thing  of  a  favorite  of  his  from  the  day  he  had  married 
into  the  family  ;  "  and  there  are  but  few  left  to  talk 
with  me  of  them  now.  I  am  one  of  the  living  sur 
vivors  of  an  almost  extinguished  race.  The  grave 
will  soon  be  our  only  habitation.  I  am  one  of  the 
few  stalks  that  still  remain  in  the  field  where  the  tem 
pest  passed.  I  have  fought  against  the  foreign  foe 
for  your  sake ;  they  have  disappeared  from  the  land, 
and  you  are  free ;  the  strength  of  my  arm  delays, 
and  my  feet  fail  me  in  the  way ;  the  hand  which 
fought  for  your  liberties  is  now  open  to  bless  you. 
In  my  youth  I  bled  in  battle  that  you  might  be  inde 
pendent — let  not  my  heart,  in  my  old  age,  bleed  be- 


54  CHANTICLEER. 

cause  you  abandon  the  path  I  would  have  you  fol 
low." 

The  old  patriarch  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand, 
and  the  company  was  silent  as  though  they  had 
listened  to  a  voice  from  the  grave.  He  presently 
looked  up  and  smiled—"  Old  Ethan,  I  call  to  mind 
now,"  he  renewed,  "  had  a  quality  which  our  poor 
Barbary  inherited,  and  for  which,"  he  added,  looking 
toward  his  son  William,  "  and  for  which  I  greatly 
honor  his  memory.  He  counted  the  money  of  this 
world  but  as  dross.  From  his  manhood  to  the  very 
moment  of  his  entering  on  the  ministry,  he  never 
would  touch  silver  nor  gold,  partly,  I  think,  because 
it  was  the  true  Scripture  course,  and  partly  because  a 
dreadful  murder  had  once  happened  in  the  Barbary 
family,  growing  out  of  a  quarrel  for  the  possession  of 
a  paltry  sum  of  money." 

The  bread  she  was  raising  to  her  lips  fell  from  the 
widow's  hand,  for  she  could  not  help  but  think  of  the 
history  of  her  absent  son  ;  and  the  voice  of  Miriam, 
who  did  not  present  herself  at  the  table,  was  heard 
from  a  distant  chamber,  not  distinctly,  but  in  that 
tone  of  chanting  lament  which  had  become  habitual 
to  her  whether  in  house,  garden,  or  field.  It  was  an 


THE    FORTUNES    OF    THE    FAMILY    CONSIDERED.'    55 

inexpressibly  mournful  cadence,  and  for  the  time  still 
ed  all  other  sounds.     They  were  only  drawn  away 
from  it  by  descrying  Mopsey,  the  black  servant,  at  a 
turn  of  the  road,  hurrying  with  great  animation  to 
wards  the  homestead,  but  with  a  singularity  in  her 
progress  which  could  not  fail  to  be  observed.     She 
rushed  along  at  great  speed,  for  several  paces,  and 
suddenly  came  to  a  halt,  during  which  her  head  dis 
appeared,  and  then  renewed  her  pace,  repeating  the 
peculiar  manoeuvre  once  at  least  in  every  ten  yards. 
In  a  word,  she  was  shuffling  on  in  her  loose  shoes, 
(which  were  on  or  off,  one  or  the  other  of  them  every 
other  minute,)  at  as  rapid  a  rate  as  that  peculiar  spe 
cies  of  locomotion  allowed.    Bursting  with  impatience 
and  the  importance  of  her  communication,  her  cap 
flaunting  from  her  head,  she   stood  in  the  doorway 
and  announced,  "  We've  beat  Brundage— we've  beat 
Brundage!" 

"  What's  this,  Mopsey  ?"  old  Sylvester  inquired. 

"  I've  tried  it  and  I've  spanned  it.     I  can't  span 

ours  1" 

On  further  questioning  it  appeared  that  Mopsey 
had  been  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the  next  neighbor's,  the 
Brundages,  to  inspect  their  thanksgiving  pumpkin, 


56  CHANTICLEER. 

and  institute  a  comparison  with  the  Peabody  growth 
of  that  kind,  with  a  highly  satisfactory  and  compla 
cent  result  as  regarded  the  home  production.  No 
body  was  otherwise  than  pleased  at  Mopsey's  inno 
cent  rejoicing,  and  when  she  had  been  duly  compli 
mented  on  her  success,  she  went  away  with  a  broad 
black  guffaw  to  set  a  trap  in  the  garden  for  the 
brown  mouse,  the  sole  surviving  enemy  of  the  great 
Peabody  thanksgiving  pumpkin  which  must  be  pluck 
ed  next  day  for  use. 

With  the  dispatch  of  the  evening  meal,  old  Syl 
vester  withdrew  to  the  other  room,  with  a  little  hand 
lamp,  to  read  a  chapter  by  himself.  The  others 
remaining  seated  about  the  apartment ;  the  Captain 
and  Oliver  presently  fell  into  a  violent  discussion  on 
the  true  sources  of  national  wealth,  the  Captain  giv 
ing  it  as  his  opinion  that  it  solely  depended  on  having 
a  great  number  of  ships  at  sea,  as  carriers  between 
different  countries.  Oliver  was  equally  clear  and 
resolute  that  the  real  wealth  of  a  nation  lay  in  its 
wheat  crops.  When  wheat  was  at  ten  shillings  the 
bushel,  all  went  well ;  let  it  fall  a  quarter,  and  you 
had  general  bankruptcy  staring  you  in  the  face.  Mr. 
William  Peabody  was'nt  at  the  pains  to  deliver  his 


THE    FORTUNES    OF    THE    FAMILY    CONSIDERED.     57 

opinion,  but  he  was  satisfied,  in  his  secret  soul,  that 
it  lay  in  the  increase  of  new  houses,  or  the  proper 
supply  of  calicoes — he  had'nt  made  up  his  mind 
which.  Presently  Oliver  was  troubled  again  in  refer 
ence  to  the  supply  of  gold  in  the  world — whether 
there  was  enough  to  do  business  with  ;  he  also  had 
some  things  to  say  (which  he  had  out  of  a  great 
speech  in  Congress)  about  bullion  and  rates  of  ex 
change,  but  nobody  understood  him. 

"By  the  way,"  he  added,  "Mrs.  Carrack's  son 
Tiffany  is  gone  to  the  Gold  Region.  From  what  he 
writes  to  me  I  think  he'll  cut  a  very  great  figure  in 
that  country." 

"  An  exceedingly  fine,  talented  young  man,"  said 
the  merchant,  who  had,  then,  sundry  sums  on  loan 
from  his  mother. 

"  In  any  point  of  view,  in  which  you  regard  it," 
continued  Oliver,  "  the  gold  country  is  an  important 
acquisition." 

"  You  hav'nt  the  letter  Tiffany  wrote,  with  you  ?" 
interrupted  the  Captain. 

"  I  think  I  have,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  brought 
it,  supposing  you  might  like  to  look  at  it.  Shall  I 
read  it?" 

3* 


58  CHANTICLEER. 

There  was  no  objection — the  letter  was  read — in 
which  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack  professed  his  weariness  of 
civilized  life — spoke  keenly  of  misspent  hours  —  a 
determination  to  rally  and  do  something  important, 
intimating  that  that  was  a  great  country  for  enter 
prising  young  men,  and,  in  a  familiar  phrase,  closed 
with  a  settled  resolution  to  do  or  die. 

"  I  have  a  letter  to  the  same  effect,"  said  the  Cap 
tain. 

"  And  so  have  I,"  said  William  Peabody,  "  word 
for  word." 

"  He  means  to  do  something  very  grand,"  said  the 
Captain.  Something  very  grand  —  the  women  all 
agreed — for  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack  was  a  nice  young 
man,  and  had  a  prospect  of  inheriting  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  to  say  nothing  of  the  large  sums  he 
was  to  bring  from  the  Gold  Regions.  It  was  evident 
to  all  that  he  was  going  into  the  business  with  a 
rush.  They,  of  course,  would'nt  see  Mr.  Tiffany 
Carrack  at  this  Thanksgiving  gathering — he  had  bet 
ter  business  on  hand — Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack  was  clearly 
the  promising  young  man  of  the  family,  and  was 
carrying  the  fortunes  of  the  Peabodys  into  the  re 
motest  quarters  of  the  land. 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  THE  FAMILY  CONSIDERED.   59 

"  In  a  word,"  said  Mr.  Oliver  Peabody,  developing 
the  Declaration  of  Independence  on  his  pocket-hand 
kerchief.  "  He  is  going  to  do  wonders  in  every  point 
of  view.  He'll  carry  the  principles  of  Free  Govern 
ment  everywhere !" 

The  consideration  of  the  extraordinary  talents  and 
enterprise  of  the  son  imparted  a  new  interest  to  the 
question  of  the  coming  of  Mrs.  Carrack ;  which  was  re- 
discussed  in  all  its  bearings  ;  and  it  was  almost  unani 
mously  concluded — that,  one  day  now  only  intervening 
to  Thanksgiving — it  was  too  late  to  look  for  her. 
There  had  been  a  general  disposition,  secretly  opposed 
only  by  Mrs.  Jane  Peabody,  to  yield  to  that  fashionable 
person  the  best  bed-chamber,  which  was  always  ac 
counted  a  great  prize  and  distinguished  honor  among 
the  family.  But  now  there  was  scarcely  any  need  of 
reserving  it  longer — and  who  was  to  have  it  ?  Alas  ! 
that  is  a  question  often  raised  in  rural  households, 
often  shakes  them  to  the  very  base,  and  spreads 
through  whole  families  a  bitterness  and  strength  and 
length  of  strife,  which  frequently  ends  only  with 
life  itself. 

To  bring  the  matter  to  an  issue,  various  whispered 
conversations  were  held  in  the  small  room,  lying  next 


60  CHANTICLEER, 

to  the  sitting-room,  at  first  between  Mrs.  Margaret 
Peabody  and  Mopsey,  to  which  one  by  one  were  sum 
moned,  Mrs.  Jane  Peabody,  the  Captain's  wife,  and 
Mrs.  Hannah  Peabody.  The  more  it  was  discussed 
the  farther  off  seemed  any  reasonable  conclusion. 
When  one  arrangement  was  proposed,  various  faces 
of  the  group  grew  dark  and  sour;  when  another, 
other  faces  blackened  and  elongated ;  tongues,  too, 
wagged  faster  every  minute,  and  at  length  grew  to 
such  a  hubbub  as  to  call  old  Sylvester  away  from  his 
Bible  and  bring  him  to  the  door  to  learn  what  tur 
moil  it  was  that  at  this  quiet  hour  disturbed  the  peace 
of  the  Peabodys.  He  was  not  long  in  discovering 
the  ground  of  battle,  and  even  as  in  old  pictures 
Adam  is  shown  walking  calmly  in  Eden  among  the 
raging  beasts  of  all  degrees  and  kinds,  the  old  patri 
arch  came  forward  among  the  women  of  the  Peabody 
family — "  My  children,"  he  said,  "  should  dwell  in 
peace  for  the  short  stay  allotted  them  on  earth.  Why 
make  a  difference  about  so  small  a  matter  as  a  lodg 
ing-place — they  are  all  good  and  healthful  rooms.  I 
have  seen  the  day  when  camping  on  the  wet  grounds 
and  morasses  I  would  have  held  any  one  of  them  to 
be  a  palace-chamber.  The  back  chamber,  my  child," 


THE  FORTUNES  OF  THE  FAMILY  CONSIDERED.  61 

he  continued,  addressing  the  Captain's  wife,  "  looks 
out  on  the  orchard,  where  you  always  love  to  walk ; 
the  white  room,  Hannah,  towards  your  father's 
house  ;  and  Jane,  you  cannot  object  to  the  front  cham 
ber  which  is  large,  well-furnished,  and  has  the  best 
of  the  sunrise.  The  Son  of  Man,  my  children,  had 
not  where  to  lay  his  head,  and  shall  we  who  are  but 
snails  and  worms,  compared  with  his  glory  and  good 
ness,  presume  to  exalt  ourselves,  where  he  was 
abased." 

The  old  patriarch  wished  them  a  good  night, 
and  with  the  departure  of  his  white  locks  gleam 
ing  as  he  walked  away,  as  though  it  had  been  the 
gentle  radiance  of  the  moon  stilling  the  tumult  of 
the  waters,  they  each  quietly  retired,  and  without  a 
further  murmur,  to  the  chambers  assigned  them. 


CHAPTER    FIFTH. 

THE    CHILDREN. 

THERE  was  no  question  where  the  children  were  to 
lodge,  for  there  had  been  allotted  to  them  from  time 
immemorial,  ever  since  children  were  known  in  the 
Peabody  family,  a  great  rambling  upper  chamber, 
with  beds  in  the  corners,  where  they  were  always  be 
stowed  as  soon  after  dark  as  they  could  be  convoyed 
thither  under  direction  of  Mopsey  and  the  mistress 
of  the  household.  This  was  not  always — in  truth  it 
was  rarely — easy  of  achievement,  and  cost  the  shuffling 
black  servant  at  least  half  an  hour  of  diligent  search 
and  struggling  persuasion  to  bring  them  in  from  the 
various  strayings,  escapes,  and  lurking-places,  where 
they  shirked  to  gain  an  extra  half-hour  of  freedom. 

To  the  children,  however  darker  humors  might 
work  and  sadden  among  the  grown  people,  (for  what 
ever  hue  rose-favored  writers  may  choose  to  throw 
over  scenes  and  times  of  festivity,  the  passions  of  char 
acter  are  always  busy,  in  holiday  and  hall,  as  well  ns 


THE    CHILDREN.  63 

in  the  strifes  of  the  world,)  to  the  Peabody  children 
this  was  thanksgiving  time  indeed — it  was  thanks 
giving  in  the  house,  it  was  thanksgiving  in  the  orch 
ard,  climbing  trees ;  it  was  thanksgiving  in  the  barn, 
tumbling  in  the  hay,  in  the  lane.  It  was  thanks 
giving,  too,  with  the  jovial  Captain,  a  grown-up  boy, 
heading  their  sports  and  allowing  the  country  as  he 
did,  little  rest  or  peace  of  mind  wherever  he  lead  the 
revel ;  it  was  not  four-and-twenty  hours  that  he  had 
been  at  the  quiet  homestead  before  the  mill  was  set 
a-running,  the  chestnut-trees  shaken,  the  pigeons 
fired  into,  a  new  bell  of  greater  compass  put  upon  the 
brindle  cow,  the  blacksmith's  anvil  at  the  corner  of 
the  road  set  a-dinging,  fresh  weather-cocks  clapped 
upon  the  barn,  corn-crib,  stable,  and  out-house,  the 
sheep  let  out  of  the  little  barn,  all  the  boats  of  the 
neighborhood  launched  upon  the  pond.  With  night, 
darkness  closed  upon  wild  frolic;  bed-time  came,  and 
thanksgiving  had  a  pause ;  a  pause  only,  for  Mopsey's 
dark  head,  with  its  broad-bordered  white  cap,  was  no 
sooner  withdrawn  and  the  door  firmly  shut,  than 
thanksgiving  began  afresh,  as  though  there  had  been 
no  such  thing  all  day  long,  and  they  were  now  just 
setting  out.  For  half  a  minute  after  Mopsey's  disap- 


64  CHANTICLEER. 

pearance  they  were  all  nicely  tucked  in  as  she  had  left 
them — straight  out — with  their  heads  each  square  on 
its  pillow ;  then,  as  if  by  a  silent  understanding,  all 
heads  popped  up  like  so  many  frisking  fish.  They 
darted  from  bed  and  commenced  in  the  middle  of  the 
chamber,  a  great  pillow-fight  amicable  and  hurtless, 
but  furiously  waged,  till  the  approach  of  a  broad  foot 
step  sent  them  scampering  back  to  their  couches, 
mum  as  mice.  Mopsey,  well  aware  of  these  frisks, 
tarried  till  they  were  blown  over,  in  her  own  cham 
ber  hard  by,  a  dark  room,  mysterious  to  the  fancy  of 
the  children,  with  spinning  wheels,  dried  gourd-shells 
hung  against  the  wall,  a  lady's  riding-saddle,  now  out 
of  use  this  many  a  day,  and  all  the  odds  and  ends  of  an 
ancient  farm-house  stored  in  heaps  and  strings  about. 

It  was  only  at  last  by  going  aloft  and  moving  a 
trap  in  the  ceiling,  which  was  connected  in  tradition 
with  the  appearance  of  a  ghost,  that  they  were  at 
length  fairly  sobered  down  and  kept  in  bed,  when 
Mopsey,  looking  in  for  the  last  time,  knew  that  it 
was  safe  to  go  below.  They  had  something  left  even 
then,  and  kept  up  a  talk  from  bed  to  bed,  for  a  good 
long  hour  more,  at  least. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  turkey,  Bill  ?"  began 


THE    CHILDREN.  65 

Master  Robert  Peabody,  the  flat-featured,  rising  from 
his  pillow  like  a  homely  porpoise. 

"  I  don't  know,"  Peabody  Junior  answered,  "  I 
don't  care  for  turkeys." 

Little  Sam  Peabody,  the  master  of  the  turkey, 
took  this  very  much  to  heart. 

"  I  think  he's  a  very  fine  one,"  continued  Master 
Robert,  "  twice  as  big  as  last  year's." 

"  I'm  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Cousin  Rob 
ert,"  said  little  Sam  Peabody,  turning  over  toward 
the  quarter  whence  the  voice  of  encouragement 
came. 

"  As  fine  a  turkey  as  I've  ever  seen,"  Robert  went  on. 
"  When  do  they  kill  him  ?" 

Little  Sam  struggled  a  little  with  himself,  and 
answered  feebly,  "  To-morrow." 

There  was  silence  for  several  minutes,  broken  pres 
ently  by  Peabody  Junior,  fixing  his  pillow,  and  say 
ing  "  Boys,  I'm  going  to  sleep." 

Allowing  some  few  minutes  for  this  to  take  effect, 
Master  Robert  called  across  the  chamber  to  little  Sam, 
"  I  wonder  why  Aunt  Hannah  wears  that  old  green 
shade  on  her  face  ?" 


66  CHANTICLEER. 

"  Pray  don't  say  anything  about  that,"  little  Sam 
answered,  "  Cousin  don't  like  to  hear  about  that !" 

Master  Robert — rather  a  blunt  young  gentleman- 
is  not  to  be  baffled  so  easily. 

"  I   say,    Bill,  why  does  your  mother  wear   that 
green  patch  over  her  eye  ?"  he  called  out. 

There  was  no  answer  ;  he  called  again  in  a  louder 
key. 

"  Hush  !"  whispered  Peabody  Junior,  who  was 
not  asleep,  but  only  thinking  of  it,  in  a  tone  of  fear, 
"  I  don't  know." 

"  Is  the  eye  gone  ?"  Robert  asked  again,  bent  on 
satisfaction  of  some  kind. 

"  I  don't  know,"  was  the  whispered  answer  again. 
"  Don't  ask  me  anything  about  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  Aunt  Hannah's  not  happy,"  suggested 
little  Sam,  timidly. 

"  Pr'aps  she  is'nt,  Sam,"  Peabody  Junior  answered. 

"  What  is  the  reason,"  continued  little  Sam,  "  I 
always  liked  her." 

"Don't  know,"  was  all   Peabody  Junior  had  to 

reply. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  that  other  eye  ?  Bill,"  asked  the 


THE    CHILDREN.  67 

blunt  young  gentleman,  whose  head  was  still  running 
on  the  green  shade. 

"  Oh,  go  to  sleep,  will  you,  Nosey,"  cried  Peabody 
Junior.  "  If  you  don't  leave  me  alone  I'll  get  up 
and  wollop  you." 

The  flat-featured  disappeared  with  his  porpoise 
face  under  the  bed-clothes  and  breathed  hard,  but 
kept  close ;  and  when  he  fell  asleep  he  dreamed  of 
dragons  and  green  umbrellas  all  night,  at  a  fearful 
rate. 

"  I  would'nt  be  angry,  Cousin,"  said  little  Sam, 
when  the  porpoise  gave  token  that  he  was  hard 
bound  in  slumber.  "  He  don't  mean  to  hurt  your 
feelings,  I  don't  believe." 

"  Pr'aps  he  don't,"  Peabody  Junior  rejoined. 
"  What  could  I  tell  him,  if  I  wanted  to  ;  all  I  know 
is,  mother  has  worn  the  shade  ever  since  I  can  recol 
lect  anything.  I  think  sometimes  I  can  remember 
she  used  to  have  it  on  as  far  back  as  when  I  was  at 
the  breast,  a  very  little  child,  and  that  I  used  to  try 
and  snatch  it  away — which  always  made  her  very 
sad." 

"  Don't  she  ever  take  it  away  ?"  asked  little  Sam. 

"  I  never  saw  it  off  in  all  my  life ;  nor  can  I  tell 


68  CHANTICLEER. 

you  whether  my  dear  mother  has  one  eye  or  two.  I 
know  she  never  likes  to  have  any  one  look  at  it.  It 
makes  her  melancholy  at  once  ;  nurse  used  to  tell  me 
there  was  a  mystery  about  it — but  she  would  never 
tell  me  any  more.  It  always  scares  father  when  she 
turns  that  side  of  her  face  on  him,  that  I've  noticed ; 
and  he  always  at  home  sits  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table  from  it." 

"I  would'nt  think  any  more  about  it  to-night, 
Cousin,"  said  little  Sam.  "I  know  it  makes  you 
unhappy  from  your  voice.  Don't  you  miss  some  one 
to-night  that  used  to  keep  us  awake  with  telling 
pleasant  stories  3" 

"  I  do,"  answered  Peabody  Junior.  "  I'm  thinking 
of  him  now.  I  wish  Cousin  Elbridge  was  back  again." 

"  You  know  why  he  is'nt  ?" 

"Father  says  it's  because  he's  a  bad  young  man." 

"  And  do  you  believe  it,  William  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  he  is— for  father  always  says  so." 

A  gentle  figure  had  quietly  opened  the  chamber- 
door,  and  stood  listening  with  breathless  attention  to 
the  discourse  of  the  two  children. 

"  You  wait  and  see,"  continued  little  Sam  firmly, 
"  I'm  sure  he'll  come  back— and  before  long." 


THE    CHILDREN.  69 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  William  asked. 
"  I'm  sure  I  hope  he  will." 

"Because  the  red  rooster,"  answered  little  Sam, 
"  crowed  yesterday  morning  for  the  first  time  since 
he  went  away,  and  the  red  rooster  knows  more  than 
anybody  about  this  farm  except  old  grandfather." 

Thinking  how  that  could  be,  Peabody  Junior  fell 
asleep  ;  and  little  Sam,  sure  to  dream  of  his  absent 
brother,  shortly  followed  after.  The  gentle  figure  of 
Miriam  Haven  glided  into  the  chamber,  to  the  bed-side 
of  little  Sam,  and  watching  his  calm,  innocent  fea 
tures — which  were  held  to  greatly  resemble  those  of 
the  absent  Elbridge — with  tears  in  her  eyes,  she 
breathed  a  blessing  from  her  very  heart  on  the  dear 
child  who  had  faith  in  the  absent  one.  "  A  blessing  !" 
such  was  her  humble  wish  as  she  returned  to  her 
chamber  and  laid  her  fair  head  on  the  pillow,  "  a 
blessing  on  such  as  believe  in  us  when  we  are  in 
trouble  and  poverty,  out  of  favor  with  the  world, 
when  our  good  name  is  doubted,  and  when  the  cur 
rent  running  sharply  against,  might  overwhelm  us, 
were  not  one  or  two  kind  hands  put  forth  to  save 
us  from  utter  ruin  and  abandonment !" 


CHAPTER     SIXTH. 

THE    FASHIONABLE    LADY    AND    HER    SON. 

ALL  the  next  day,  being  the  Wednesday  before 
thanksgiving,  was  alive  and  busy  with  the  various 
preparations  for  the  great  festival,  now  held  to  be  a 
sacred  holiday  throughout  this    wide-spread   union. 
The  lark  had  no  sooner  called  morning  in  the  mea 
dow  than  Mopsey,  who  seemed  to  regard  herself  as 
having  the  entire  weight  of  the  occasion  on  her  single 
shoulders,  slipped  from  bed,  hurried  to  the  garden, 
and  taking  a  last  look  at  the  great  pumpkin  as  it  lay 
in  all  its  golden  glory,  severed  the  vine  at  a  stroke 
and  trundled  it  with  her  own  arms,  (she  saw  with  a 
smile  of  pity  the  poor  brown  mouse  skulking  off,  like 
a  little  pirate  as  he  was,  disappointed  of  his  prize,)  in 
at  the  back-door.     The  Peabodys  were  gathering  for 
breakfast,  and  coming  forward,  stood  at  either  side  of 
the  entrance  regarding  the  pumpkin  with  profound 
interest.    It  fairly  shook  the  house  as  it  rolled  in  upon 
the  kitchen  floor. 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     71 

When  little  Sam,  who  had  lingered  in  bed  beyond 
the  others,  with  pleasant  dreams,  came  down  stairs, 
he  was  met  by  young  William  Peabody. 

"  What  do  you  think,  Sam?"  said  Peabody  Junior, 
smiling. 

"  I  suppose  Aunt  Carrack  has  come,"  Sam  answer 
ed.  "  It's  nothing  to  me  if  she  has." 

"  No,  that  isn't  it.— Turkey's  dead  !" 

Little  Sam  dropped  a  tear,  and  went  away  by  him 
self  to  walk  in  the  garden.  Little  Sam  took  no 
breakfast  that  morning. 

Every  window  in  the  house  was  thrown  wide  open 
to  begin  with  ;  every  chair  walked  out  of  its  place ; 
the  new  broom  which  Miriam  had  gathered  with  a 
song,  was  used  for  the  first  time  freely  on  every  floor, 
in  every  nook  and  corner  ;  then  the  new  broom  was 
carried  away,  and  locked  in  a  closet  like  a  conjuror 
who  had  wrought  his  spell  and  need  not  appear  again 
till  some  other  magic  was  to  be  performed.  All  the 
chairs  were  set  soberly  and  steadily  against  the  wall, 
the  windows  were  closed,  and  a  sacred  shade  thrown 
over  the  house  against  the  approaching  festival.  The 
key  was  turned  in  the  lock  of  the  old  parlor,  which 
was  to  have  no  company  (save  the  tall  old  clock  talk- 


72  CHANTICLEER. 

ing  all  alone  in  the  corner  to  himself)  till  to-mor 
row. 

And  so  the  day  sailed  on,  like  a  dainty  boat  with 
silent  oar  on  a  calm -flowing  stream,  to  evening,  when, 
as  though  it  had  been  a  new-born  meteor  or  great 
will-o'-the-wisp,  there  appeared  on  the  edge  of  the 
twilight,  along  the  distant  horizon,  a  silvery  glitter, 
which,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer,  presently  disclosed 
a  servant  in  a  shining  band  mounted  on  a  great 
coach,  with  horses  in  burnished  harness;  with  champ 
ing  speed,  which  it  seemed  must  have  borne  it  far 
beyond,  it  came  to  in  a  moment  at  the  very  gate  of 
the  homestead,  as  at  the  striking  of  a  clock.  A  gen 
tleman  in  bearded  lip,  in  high  polish  of  hat,  chains 
and  boots,  emerged,  (the  door  being  opened  by  a 
stripling  also  in  a  banded  hat,  who  leaped  from  be 
hind,)  followed  by  a  lady  in  a  gown  of  glossy  silk  and 
a  yellow  feather,  waving  in  the  partial  darkness  from 
her  hat.  Such  wonder  and  astonishment  as  seized  on 
the  Peabodys,  who  looked  on  it  from  the  balcony,  no 
man  can  describe. 

Angels  have  descended  before  now  and  walked 
upon  the  earth — giants  have  been  at  some  time  or 
other  seen  strutting  about — ghosts  appear  occasional- 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     73 

ly  in  the  neighborhood  of  old  farm-houses,  but  neither 
ghost,  giant,  nor  angel  had  such  a  welcome  of  up 
lifted  hands  and  staring  eyes  as  encountered  Mrs. 
Carrack  and  her  son  Tiffany,  when  they,  in  the  body 
entered  in  at  the  gate  of  the  old  Peabody  mansion  at 
that  time.  There  was  but  one  person  in  the  com 
pany,  old  Sylvester  perhaps  excepted,  who  seemed  to 
have  his  wits  about  him,  and  that  was  the  red  rooster 
who,  sitting  on  the  wall  near  the  gate  when  Mr. 
Tiffany  Carrack  pushed  it  open,  cocked  his  eye  smart 
ly  on  him,  and  darted  sharply  at  his  white  hand,  with 
its  glittering  jewel  as  he  laid  it  on  the  gate. 

"  Nancy,"  said  old  Sylvester,  addressing  her  with 
extended  grasp,  and  a  pleasant  smile  of  welcome  on 
his  brow,  "  we  had  given  up  looking  for  you." 

Was  there  ever  such  a  rash  old  man  !  "  Nancy  !" 
as  though  she  had  been  a  common  person  he  was 
speaking  to. 

Mrs.  Carrack,  who  was  a  short  woman,  stiff  and 
stern,  tossing  her  feather,  gave  the  tips  of  her  fingers 
to  the  patriarch,  and  ordering  in  a  huge  leathern 
trunk  all  over  brass  nails  and  capital  C's,  condescended 
to  enter  into  the  house.  In  spite  of  all  resolutions 
and  persuasions  to  the  contrary  the  door  of  the  best 
4 


74  CHANTICLEER. 

parlor  unlocked  before  her  grandeur  of  demeanor,  and 
she  took  possession  as  though  she  had  not  the  slight 
est  connection  with  the  other  members   of  the  Pea- 
body  family,  nor  the  remotest  interest  in  the  com 
mon  sitting-room  without.    Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack,  with 
patent  shanks  to  his  boots  which  sprang  him  into  the 
air  as  he  walked,   corsets  to  brace  his  body  in,  new 
fangled  straps  to  keep  him  down,  a  patent  collar  of  a 
peculiar  invention,  to  hold  his  head  aloft,  moving  as 
it  were  under  the  convoy  of  a  company  of  invisible 
influences,  deriving  all  his  motions  from  the  shoe 
maker,  stay-maker,  tailor  and  linen-draper,  who  ori 
ginally  wound  him  up  and  set  him  a-going,  for  whose 
sole  convenience  he  lives,  having  withal,  by  way  of 
paint  to  his  ashy  countenance,  a  couple  of  little  conch- 
shell  tufts,  tawny-yellow,  (that  being  the  latest  to  be 
had  at  the  perfumer's,)  on  his  upper  lip ;  the  represen 
tative  and  embodiment  of  all  the  latest  new  improve 
ments,  patents,  and  contrivances  in  apparel,  Mjx  Tif 
fany  Carrack  followed  his  excellent  mother. 

"  Why,  Tiffany,"  said  old  Sylvester,  who  notwith 
standing  the  immensity  of  these  people,  calmly  pur 
sued  his  old  course,  "  we  all  thought  you  were  in 
California." 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     75 

The  family  were  gathered  around  and  awaited  Mr. 
Tiffany  Carrack's  answer  with  a  good  deal  of  curiosity. 

"  That  was  all  a  delusion,  sir,"  he  replied,  plucking 
at  his  little  crop  of  yellow  tufts, — "a  horrible  delu 
sion.  I  had  some  thought  of  that  kind  in  my  mind, 
in  fact  I  had  got  as  far  south  as  New  Orleans,  when 
I  met  a  seedy  fellow  who  told  me  that  the  natives 
had  rebelled  and  wouldn't  work  any  more ;  so  I 
found  if  I  would  get  any  of  the  precious,  I  must  dig 
with  a  shovel  with  my  own  dear  digits ;  of  course  I 
turned  back  in  disgust,  and  here  I  am  as  good  as 
new — Jehoshaphat !" 

It  was  well  that  Mr.  Tiffany  had  a  fashion  of  em 
phasizing  his  discourse  with  a  reference  to  this  an 
cient  person,  whom  he  supposed  to  have  been  an  ex 
quisite  of  the  first  water,  which  happily  furnished  a 
cover  under  which  the  entire  Peabody  family  explo 
ded  with  laughter  at  Mr.  Carrack's  announcement  of 
the  sudden  termination  of  his  grand  expedition  to  the 
Gold  Region.  Without  an  exception  they  all  went 
off  in  an  enormous  burst,  the  Captain,  little  Sam,  and 
Mopsey  leading. 

"  Every  word  true,  'pon  my  honor,"  repeated  Mr. 
Car  rack. 


76  CHANTICLEER. 

The  great  burst  was  renewed. 

"  It  was  a  capital  idea,  wasn't  it  ?"  he  said  again, 
supposing  he  had  made  a  great  hit. 

The  explosion  for  the  third  time,  but  softened  a 
little  by  pity  in  the  female  section  of  the  chorus. 

Mrs.  Carrack  had  sat  stately  and  aloof,  with  an 
inkling  in  her  brain  that  all  this  mirthful  tumult  was 
not  entirely  in  the  nature  of  a  complimentary  tribute 
to  her  son. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  with  haughty  severity  of  as 
pect,  "  my  son  was  perfectly  right.  It  was  a  sinful 
and  a  wicked  adventure  at  the  best,  as  the  Reverend 
Strawbery  Hyson  clearly  showed  from  the  fourth  Re 
velations,  in  his  last  annual  discourse  to  the  young 
ladies  of  the  church." 

"  He  did,  so  he  did,"  said  Mr.  Tiffany,  stroking 
his  chin,  "  I  remember  perfectly  :  it  was  very  pret 
tily  stated  by  Hyson.'' 

"  The  Reverend  Strawbery  Hyson,"  said  Mrs.  Car- 
rack.  "  Always  give  that  excellent  man  his  full  title. 
What  would  you  say,  my  son,  if  he  should  appear  in 
the  streets  without  his  black  coat  and  white  cravat  ? 
Would  you  have  any  confidence  in  his  preaching 
after  that «" 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     77 

"  Next  to  myself,"  answered  Mr.  Tiffany,  "  I  think 
our  parson  's  the  best-dressed  man  in  Boston." 

"  He  should  be,  as  an  example,"  said  Mrs.  Car- 
rack.  "  He  has  a  very  genteel  congregation." 

Old  Sylvester,  who  had  on  at  that  moment  an  old 
brown  coat  and  a  frayed  black  ribbon  for  a  neck-cloth, 
ordered  Mopsey  to  send  the  two  best  pies  in  the 
house  immediately  to  the  negroes  in  the  Hills.  Mrs. 
Carrack  smiled  loftily,  and  drew  from  her  pocket  an 
elegant  small  silver  vial  of  the  pure  otto  of  rose,  and 
applied  it  to  her  nostrils  as  though  something  dis 
agreeable  had  just  struck  upon  the  air  and  tainted  it. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack,  adjusting 
his  shirt  collar,  "  how  is  my  little  friend  Miriam  ?" 

"  Melancholy  !"  was  the  only  answer  any  one  had 
to  make. 

"  So  I  thought,"  pursued  Mr.  Carrack,  rolling  his 
eyes  and  heaving  an  infant  sigh  from  his  bosom. 
"  Poor  thing,  no  wonder,  if  she  thought  I  was  gone 
away  so  far.  She  shall  be  comforted." 

Mopsey  looking  in  at  this  moment,  gave  the  sum 
mons  to  tea,  which  was  answered  by  Mr.  Tiffany  Car- 
rack's  offering  his  arm,  impressively,  to  his  excellent 
mother,  and  leading  the  way  to  the  table. 


78  CHANTICLEER. 

It  was  observed,  that  in  his  progress  to  the  tea-table, 
Mr.  Tiffany  adopted  a  tottering  and  uncertain  step, 
indicating  a  dilapidated  old  age,  only  kept  together 
by  the  clothes  he  wore,  which  was  altogether  unin 
telligible  to  the  Peabody  family,  seeing  that  Mr. 
Carrack  was  in  the  very  prime  of  youth,  till  Mrs.  Car- 
rack  remarked,  with  an  affectionate  smile  of  motherly 
pride  : 

"  You  remind  me  more  and  more  every  day,  Tiff, 
of  that  dear  delightful  old  Baden-Baden.'' 

"  I  wish  the  glorious  old  fellow  would  come  over  to 
me  for  a  short  lark,"  rejoined  Mr.  Tiffany.  "  But  he 
couldn't  live  here  long ;  there's  nothing  old  here." 

"  Who's  Baden  Baden  ?"  asked  Sylvester. 

"  Only  a  prince  of  my  acquaintance  on  the  other 
side  of  the  water,  and  a  devilish  clever  fellow.  But 
he  could'nt  stand  it  here — I'm  afraid — everything's 
so  new.1' 

"  I'm  rather  old,"  suggested  Sylvester,  smiling  on 
the  young  man. 

"  So  you  are,  by  Jove — But  that  aint  the  thing  I 
want  exactly;  I  want  an  old  castle  or  two,  and  a  don 
jon-keep,  and  that  sort  of  thing. — You  understand." 


THE    FASHIONABLE    LADY    AND    HER    SON.  79 

"  Something,"  suggested  the  grandfather,  "  in  the 
style  of  the  old  revolutionary  fort  on  Fort  Hill  ?" 

»  No — no — you  don't  take  exactly.  I  mean  some 
thing  more  in  the  antique — something  or  other,  you 
see  '' — here  he  began  twirling  his  forefinger  in  the 
air  and  sketching  an  amorphous  phantom  of  some 
sort,  of  an  altogether  unattainable  character,  "  in  a 
word — Jehoshaphat !" 

The  moment  the  eye  of  Mrs.  Carrack  fell  upon  the 
blue  and  white  crockery,  the  pewter  plates  which  had 
been  in  use  time  out  of  mind  in  the  family,  and  the 
plain  knives  and  forks  of  steel,  she  cast  on  her  son  a 
significant  glance  of  mingled  surprise  and  contempt. 
"  Thomas,"  she  said,  standing  before  the  place  assign 
ed  to  her,  her  son  doing  the  same,  "  the  napkins  !" 

The   napkins  were  brought   from   a  great  basket 
which  had  accompanied  the  leathern  trunk. 
"  The  other  things  !" 

The  other  things,  consisting  of  china  plates,  cups 
and  saucers,  and  knives  and  forks  of  silver  for  two, 
were  duly  laid — Mrs.  Carrack  and  her  son  having 
kept  the  rest  of  the  family  waiting  the  saying  of 
grace  by  old  Sylvester,  were  good  enough  to  be  seat 
ed  at  the  old  farmer's  (Mrs.  Carrack's  father's)  board. 


80  CHANTICLEER. 

When  old  Sylvester  unclosed  his  eyes  from  the 
delivery  of  thanks,  he'discovered  at  the  back  of  Mrs. 
Carrack  and  her  son's  chairs,  the  two  city  servants  in 
livery,  with  their  short  cut  hair  and  embroidered  coats 
of  the  fashion  of  those  worn  in  English  farces  on  the 
stage,  standing  erect  and  without  the  motion  of  a 
muscle.  There  is  not  a  doubt  but  that  old  Sylvester 
Peabody  was  a  good  deal  astonished,  although  he 
gave  no  utterance  to  his  feelings.  But  when  the  two 
young  men  in  livery  began  to  dive  in  here  and  there 
about  the  table,  snapping  up  the  dishes  in  exclusive 
service  on  Mrs.  Carrack  and  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack,  he 
could  remain  silent  no  longer. 

"  Boys,"  he  said,  addressing  himself  to  the  two  fine 
personages  in  question,  "  you  will  oblige  me  by  going 
into  the  yard  and  chopping  wood  till  we  are  done 
supper.  We  shall  need  all  you  can  split  in  an  hour 
to  bake  the  pies  with." 

Thunder  struck,  as  though  a  bolt  had  smitten  them 
individually  in  the  head,  this  direction,  delivered  in  a 
quiet  voice  of  command  not  to  be  resisted,  sent  the 
two  servants  forth  at  the  back-door.  They  were 
no  sooner  out  of  view  than  they  addressed  each  other 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     81 

almost  at  the  same  moment,  "  My  eyes  !  did  you  ever 
see  such  a  queer  old  fellow  as  that !" 

When  Mrs.  Carrack  and  her  son  turned,  and 
found  that  the  two  young  gentlemen  in  livery  had 
actually  vanished,  the  lady  smiled  a  delicate  smile  of 
gentle  scorn,  and  Mr.  Tiffany,  regarding  his  aged 
grandfather  steadily,  merely  remarked,  in  a  tone  of 
most  friendly  and  familiar  condescension,  "Baden- 
Baden  wouldn't  have  done  such  a  thino- !" 

o 

The  overpowering  grandeur  of  the  fashionable  lady 
chilled  the  household,  and  there  was  little  conversa 
tion  till  she  addressed  the  widow  Margaret. 

"  Hadn't  you  a  grown  up  son,  Mrs.  Peabody  ?" 

The  widow  was  silent.  Presently  Mr.  Carrack  re 
newed  the  discourse. 

"  By  the  by,"  he  said,  "  I  thought  I  saw  that  son 
of  yours — wasn't  his  name  Elbridge,  or  something  of 
that  sort  ? — in  New  Orleans." 

"  Did  you  speak  to  him  ?"  asked  the  Captain,  flush 
ing  a  little  in  the  face. 

"  I  observed  he  was  a  good   deal  out  at  elbows," 
Mr.  Carrack  answered,  "  and  it  was  broad  day-light, 
in  one  of  the  fashionable  streets." 
4* 


82  CHANTICLEER. 

"  Is  that  all  you  have  to  tell  us  of  your  cousin  ?" 
old  Sylvester  inquired. 

"  He  is  my  cousin — much  obliged  for  the  informa 
tion.  I  had  almost  forgotten  that!  Why  ye-es — I 
couldn't  help  seeing  that  he  went  into  a  miserable 
broken-down  house  in  a  by-street — but  had  to  get 
my  moustache  oiled  for  a  Creole  ball  that  evening, 
and  couldn't  be  reasonably  expected  to  follow  him, 
could  I  ?— Jehoshaphat !" 

If  the  human  countenance,  by  reason  of  its  cloud 
ing  up  in  gusts  of  pitchy  blackness  acquired  the 
power,  like  darkening  skies,  of  discharging  thunder 
bolts,  it  would  have  been,  I  am  sure,  a  hot  and  heavy 
one  which  Mopsey,  blackening  and  blazing,  had  de 
livered,  as  she  departed  to  the  kitchen,  lowering  upon 
Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack,— "  '  He  thought  he  saw  her  son 
ElbridgeT  The  vagabone  has  no  more  feeling  nor 
de  bottom  of  a  stone  jug." 

The  meal  over,  the  evening  wore  on  in  friendly 
chat  of  old  Thanksgiving  times — of  neighbors  and 
early  family  histories ;  each  one  in  turn  launching, 
so  to  speak,  a  little  boat  upon  the  current,  freighted 
deep  with  many  precious  stores  of  old-time  remem 
brance  ;  Mrs.  Carrack  sitting  alone  as  an  iceberg  in  the 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     83 

very  midst  of  the  waters,  melting*  not  once,  nor  con 
tributing  a  drop  or  trickle  to  the  friendly  flow.  And 
when  bed-time  came  again,  how  clearly  was  it  shown, 
that  there  is  nothing  certain  in  this  changeful  world. 
By  some  sudden  and  unforeseen  interruption,  na 
tions  lose  power,  communities  are  shattered,  house 
holds  well-constructed  fall  in  pieces  at  a  breath. 

Her  sudden  appearance  in  their  midst,  compelled 
another  consultation  to  be  taken  as  to  the  disposal 
of  the  great  Mrs.  Carrack  for  the  night.  It  would 
never  answer  to  put  that  grand  person  in  any  secon 
dary  lodging  ;  so  all  the  old  arrangements  were  of 
necessity  broken  up  ;  the  best  bed-room  allotted  to 
her  ;  and  that  her  gentle  nerves  might  not  be  afflict 
ed,  the  old  clock,  which  adjoined  her  sleeping-cham 
ber,  and  which  had  occupied  his  corner  and  told  the 
time  for  the  Peabodys  for  better  than  a  hundred 
years  from  the  same  spot,  was  instantly  silenced,  as 
impertinent.  The  Captain's  high-actioned  white  horse, 
which  had  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  roaming  unmo 
lested  about  the  house,  was  led  away  like  an  unhap 
py  convict,  and  stabled  in  the  barn ;  and  to  complete 
the  arrangements,  the  two  servants  in  livery  were  put 
on  guard  near  her  window,  to  drive  off  the  geese, 


84  CHANTICLEER. 

turkeys,  and  other  talkative  birds  of  the  night,  that 
she  might  sleep  without  the  slightest  disturbance 
from  that  noisy  old  creature,  Nature. 

Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack,  while  these  delicate  prepara 
tions  were  in  progress,  was  evidently  agitated  with 
some  extraordinary  design,  in  which  Miriam  Haven 
was  bearing  a  part ;  for,  although  he  did  not  address 
a  word  to  that  young  maiden,  he  was  as  busy  as  his 
imitation  of  the  antiquity  of  Baden-Baden  would  al 
low  him,  ogling,  grimacing,  and  plucking  his  tawny 
beard  at  her  every  minute  in  the  most  astonishing 
manner,  closely  watched  by  Mopsey,  the  Captain, 
and  old  Sylvester,  who  strongly  suspected  the  young 
man  of  being  affected  in  his  wits. 

It  was  very  clear  that  it  was  this  same  Mr.  Tiffany 
Carrack  who  had  entered  in  at  the  door  of  the  sleeping 
chamber  assigned  to  that  gentleman,  but  who  would 
have  ventured  to  assert  that  the  figure,  which,  some 
where  about  the  middle  of  the  night,  emerged  from 
the  window  of  the  chamber  in  question,  in  yellow  slip 
pers,  red  silk  cloak  trimmed  with  gold,  fez  cap,  and 
white  muslin  turban,  and,  with  folded  arms,  began 
pacing  up  and  down  under  the  casement  of  Miriam 
Haven,  after  the  manner  of  singers  at  the  opera,  pre- 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     85 

paratory  to  beginning,  was  the  same  Tiffany  ?  And 
yet,  when  he  returned  again,  and  holding  his  face  up 
to  the  moon,  which  was  shining  at  a  convenient  angle 
over  the  edge  of  the  house,  the  tawny  tuft  clearly 
identified  it  as  Tiffany  and  no  one  else.  And  yet,  as  if 
to  further  confuse  all  recognition,  what  sound  is 
that  which  breaks  from  his  throat,  articulating  : — 

"  Dearest,  awake — you  need  not  fear ; 
For  he — for  he — your  Troubadour  is  here  1" 

The  summons  passed  for  some  time  unanswered, 
till  Mopsey,  from  the  little  end- window  of  her  lodge 
ment,  presented  her  head  in  a  flaming  red  and  yellow 
handkerchief,  and  rolled  her  eyes  about  to  discover 
the  source  of  the  tumult ;  scowling  in  the  belief  that 
it  must  be  no  other  than  "  one  of  dem  Brundages  come 
to  carry  off  in  de  dead  of  night  de  Peabody  pun- 
kin." 

A  gentle  conviction  was  dawning  in  the  brain  of  Mr. 
Carrack  that  this  was  the  fair  Miriam  happily  respond 
ing  to  his  challenge  in  the  appropriate  character 
and  costume  of  a  Moorish  Princess  ;  when,  as  he 
began  to  roar  again,  still  more  violent  and  furious 
in  his  chanting,  the  black  head  opened  and  demand 
ed,  "  what  you  want  dere  ?"  followed  by  an  extra- 


86  CHANTICLEER. 

ordinary  shower  of  gourd-shells,  which,  crashing 
upon  his  sconce,  with  a  distinct  shatter  for  each  shell, 
could  not,  for  a  moment,  be  mistaken  for  flowers, 
signet-rings,  or  any  other  ordinarily  recognised  love- 
tokens. 

It  immediately  occurred  to  Mr.  Carrack,  with  the 
suddenness  of  inspiration,  that  he  had  better  return 
to  his  chamber  and  go  to  bed ;  a  design  which  was 
checked,  as  he  proceeded  in  that  direction,  by  the 
alarming  apparition  of  a  great  body  with  a  fire-lock 
thrust  out  of  the  window  of  the  apartment,  next  to  his 
own,  occupied  by  the  Captain,  presented  directly  at 
his  head,  with  a  cry  "  Avast,  there !"  and  a  move 
ment  on  the  part  of  the  body,  to  follow  the  gun  out 
at  the  window.  Fearfully  harassed  in  that  quarter, 
Mr.  Carrack  wheeled  rapidly  about,  encountering  as 
he  turned,  the  two  servants  in  livery,  still  making  the 
circuit  of  the  homestead — who  in  alarm  of  their 
lives  from  this  singular  figure  in  the  red  cloak,  fled  into 
the  fields  and  lurked  in  an  old  out-house  till  daylight. 
As  these  scampered  away  before  him,  Mr.  Tiffany,  to 
relieve  himself  of  the  apparition  of  the  gun,  would 
have  turned  the  corner  of  the  house ;  when  Mopsey 
appeared,  wildly  gesticulating,  with  a  great  brush- 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     87 

broom  reared  aloft,  and  threatening  instant  ruin  to 
his  person. 

From  this  double  peril,  what  but  the  happiest  ge 
nius  could  have  suggested  to  Mr.  Tiffany,  an  instant 
and  straightforward  flight  from  the  house  ;  in  which 
he  immediately  engaged,  making  up  the  road — the 
Captain  with  his  musket,  and  Mopsey  with  her  hearth- 
broom,  close  at  his  heels.  If  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack 
had  promptly  employed  his  undoubted  resources  of 
youth  and  activity,  his  escape  from  the  necessity  of 
disclosure  or  surrender  had  been  perhaps  easy  ;  but 
it  so  happened  that  his  progress  was  a  good  deal 
baffled  by  the  conflict  constantly  kept  up  in  his  brain, 
between  the  desire  to  use  his  legs  in  the  natural 
manner,  and  to  preserve  that  antique  pace  of  tottering 
gentility  which  he  had  acquired  from  that  devilish 
fine  old  fellow,  the  Prince  of  Baden-Baden,  so  that 
at  one  moment  he  was  in  the  very  hands  of  the 
enemy,  and  at  the  next,  flying  like  an  antelope  in  the 
distance.  The  gun,  constantly  following  him  with  a 
loud  threat,  from  the  Captain,  seemed,  in  the  moon 
light,  like  a  great  finger  perpetually  pointing  at  his 
head ;  till  at  last  it  became  altogether  too  dreadful 
to  bear,  and  making  up  the  road  toward  Brundage's, 


88  CHANTICLEER. 

which  still  further  inflamed  the  pursuit,  in  sheer  ex 
haustion  he  rushed  through  an  open  gate  into  a 
neighboring  tan-yard,  and  took  refuge  in  the  old 
bark-mill.  There  was  but  a  moment's  rest  allowed 
him  even  here,  for  Mopsey  and  the  Captain,  furiously 
threatening  all  sorts  of  death  and  destruction,  pres 
ently  rushed  in  at  the  door,  and  sent  him  scampering 
about  the  ring  like  a  distracted  colt,  in  his  first 
day's  service;  a  game  of  short  duration,  for  the  Cap 
tain  and  Mopsey,  closing  in  upon  him  from  opposite  di 
rections  compelled  him  to  retreat  again  into  the  open 
air.  How  much  longer  the  chase  might  have  con 
tinued,  it  were  hard  to  tell,  for  as  his  pursuers  made 
after  him,  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack  suddenly  disappeared, 
like  a  melted  snow-flake,  from  the  surface  of  the 
earth.  In  his  confused  state  he  had  tumbled  into  a 
vat,  fortunately  without  the  observation  of  the  inex 
orable  enemy,  although  as  he  clung  to  the  side  the 
Captain  discharged  his  musket  directly  over  his  head. 

"  I  guess  that's  done  his  business,"  said  the  Cap 
tain.  "  We'll  come  and  look  for  the  body  in  the 
morning.'' 

Now  it  is  strongly  suspected  that  both  Mopsey 
and  the  Captain  knew  well  enough  all  along  that 


THE  FASHIONABLE  LADY  AND  HER  SON.     89 

this  was  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack  they  had  been  pursu 
ing,  and  that  as  they  watched  him  from  the  distance 
emerge  from  the  vat,  return  to  the  homestead,  and 
skulk,  dripping  in,  like  a  rat  of  outlandish  breed, 
at  his  chamber-window,  they  were  amply  avenged  : 
the  Captain,  for  the  freedom  with  which  the  city- 
exquisite  had  treated  the  Peabody  family,  espe 
cially  the  good  old  grandfather,  and  Mopsey,  for  the 
slighting  manner  in  which  he  had  referred  to  absent 
young  Mas'r  Elbridge. 

When  all  was  peace  again  within  the  homestead, 
there  was  one  who  still  watched  the  night,  and  igno 
rant  of  the  nature  of  this  strange  tumult,  trembled  as  at 
the  approach  of  a  long-wished  for  happiness.  It  was 
Miriam,  the  orphan  dependent,  who  now  sat  by  the 
midnight  casement.  Oh,  who  of  living  men  can  tell 
how  that  young  heart  yearned  at  the  thought — the 
hope — the  thrilling  momentary  belief — that  this  was 
her  absent  lover  happily  returning  ? 

In  the  wide  darkness  of  the  lonesome  night,  which 
was  it  shone  brightest  and  with  purest  lustre,  in  view 
of  the  all-seeing  Mover  of  the  Heavens — the  stars 
glittering  far  away  in  space,  in  all  their  lofty  glory, 
or  the  timid  eyes  of  that  simple  maiden,  wet  with  the 


90  CHANTICLEER. 

dew  of  youth,  and  bright  with  the  pure  hope  of  hon 
est  love  !  When  all  was  still  again,  and  no  Elbridge's 
voice  was  heard,  no  form  of  absent  Elbridge  there  to 
cheer  her,  oh,  who  can  tell  how  near  to  breaking,  in  its 
silent  agony,  was  that  young  heart,  and  with  what 
tremblings  of  solicitude  and  fear,  the  patient  Miriam 
waited  for  the  friendly  light  to  open  the  golden-gate 
of  dawn  upon  another  morrow  ! 


CHAPTER    SEVENTH. 

THE    THANKSGIVING    SERMON. 

THE  morning  of  the  day  of  Thanksgiving-  came 
calm,  clear  and  beautiful.  A  stillness,  as  of  heaven 
and  not  of  earth,  ruled  the  wide  landscape.  The  In 
dian  summer,  which  had  been  as  a  gentle  mist  or 
veil  upon  the  beauty  of  the  time,  had  gone  away  a 
little— retired,  as  it  were,  into  the  hills  and  back 
country,  to  allow  the  undimmed  heaven  to  shine 
down  upon  the  happy  festival  of  families  and  nations. 
The  cattle  stood  still  in  the  fields  without  a  low ; 
the  trees  were  quiet  as  in  friendly  recognition  of  the 
spirit  of  the  hour;  no  reaper's  hook  or  mower's 
scythe  glanced  in  the  meadow,  no  rumbling  wain  was 
on  the  road.  The  birds  alone,  as  being  more  nearly 
akin  to  the  feeling  of  the  scene,  warbled  in  the 
boughs. 

But  out  of  the  silent  gloom  of  the  mist  there 
sprang  as  by  magic,  a  lovely  illumination  which  lit 


92  CHANTICLEER. 

the  country  far  and  wide,  as  with  a  thousand  vari 
colored  lamps.  As  a  maiden  who  has  tarried  in  her 
chamber,  some  hour  the  least  expected  appears  before 
us,  apparelled  in  all  the  pomp  and  hue  of  brilliant 
beauty,  the  fair  country,  flushed  with  innumerable 
tints  of  the  changed  autumn-trees,  glided  forth  upon 
the  Indian  summer  scene,  and  taught  that  when 
kindly  nature  seems  all  foregone  and  spent,  she  can 
rise  from  her  couch  fresher  and  more  radiant  than  in 
her  very  prime. 

What  wonder  if  with  the  peep  of  dawn  the  chil 
dren  leaped  from  bed,  eager  to  have  on  their  new 
clothes  reserved  for  the  day,  and  by  times  appeared 
before  old  Sylvester  in  proud  array  of  little  hats, 
new-brightened  shoes  and  shining  locks,  span  new 
as  though  they  had  just  come  from  the  mint ;  anx 
ious  to  have  his  grandfatherly  approval  of  their  come 
liness  ?  Shortly  after,  the  horses  caught  in  the  dis 
tant  pastures,  the  Captain  and  Farmer  Oliver  having 
charge  of  them,  were  brought  in  and  tied  under  the 
trees  in  the  door-yard. 

Then,  breakfast  being  early  dispatched,  there  was 
a  mighty  running  to  and  fro  of  the  grown  people 
through  the  house,  dresses  hurried  from  old  clothes- 


THE    THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  93 

presses  and  closets,  a  loud  demand  on  every  hand  for 
pins,  of  which  there  seemed  to  be  (as  there  always  is 
on  such  occasions)  a  great  lack.  The  horses  were  put 
to  Mrs.  Carrack's  coach,  the  Captain's  gig,  the  old 
house-wagon,  with  breathless  expectation  on  the  part 
of  the  children ;  and  in  brief,  after  bustling  prepara 
tion  and  incessant  summoning  of  one  member  of  the 
family  and  another  from  the  different  parts  of  the 
house,  all  being  at  last  ready  and  in  their  seats,  the 
Peabodys  set  forth  for  the  Thanksgiving  Sermon  at 
the  country  Meeting-house,  a  couple  of  miles  away. 

The  Captain  took  the  lead  with  his  wife  and  Pea- 
body  Junior  somewhere  and  somehow  between 
them,  followed  by  the  wagon  with  old  Sylvester,  still 
proud  of  his  dexterity  as  a  driver,  Oliver,  much 
pleased  with  the  popular  character  of  the  conveyance 
and  wife,  with  young  Robert ;  William  Peabody  and 
wife ;  little  Sam  riding  between  his  grandfather's  legs 
in  front,  and  allowed  to  hold  the  end  of  the  reins. 
Slowly  and  in  great  state,  after  all  rolled  Mrs.  Car- 
rack's  coach  with  herself  and  son  within,  and  footman 
and  coachman  without. 

Chanticleer,  too,  clear  of  eye  and  bright  of  wing, 
walked  the  garden  wall,  carried  his  head  up,  and  act- 


94  CHANTICLEER. 

ed  as  if  he  had  also  put  on  his  thanksgiving  suit  and 
expected  to  take  the  road  presently,  accompany  the 
family,  and  join  his  voice  with  theirs  at  the  little 
meeting-house. 

Although  the  Captain,  with  his  high-actioned 
white  horse  kept  out  of  eye-shot  ahead,  it  was  Mrs. 
Carrack's  fine  carriage  that  had  the  triumph  of  the 
road  to  itself,  for  as  it  rolled  glittering  on,  the  simple 
country  people,  belated  in  their  own  preparations,  or 
tarrying  at  home  to  provide  the  dinner,  ran  to  the 
windows  in  wonder  and  admiration.  The  plain  wag 
ons,  bent  in  the  same  direction,  turned  out  of  the  path 
and  gave  the  great  coach  the  better  half  of  the  way, 
staring  a  broadside  as  it  passed. 

And  when  the  party  reached  the  little  meeting 
house,  what  a  peace  hung  about  it !  The  air  seemed 
softer,  the  sunshine  brighter,  there,  as  it  stood  in 
humble  silence  among  the  tall  trees  which  waved 
with  a  gentle  murmur  before  its  windows.  The  peo 
ple,  as  they  arrived,  glided  noiselessly  in,  in  their 
neat  dresses  and  looks  of  decent  devotion ;  others 
as  they  came  made  fast  their  horses  under  the  sheds 
and  trees  about — most  of  them  in  wagons  and  plain 
chaises,  brightened  into  all  of  beauty  they  were  capa- 


THE    THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  95 

ble  of,  by  a  severe  attention  to  the  harness  and 
mountings  ;  others — these  were  a  few  bachelors  and 
striplings — trotted  in  quietly  on  horseback.  Before 
service  a  few  of  the  old  farmers  lingered  outside  dis 
cussing  the  late  crops  or  inquiring  after  each  other's 
families,  who  presently  went  within,  summoning  from 
the  grassy  churchyard— which  lay  next  to  the  meet 
ing  house — the  children  who  were  loitering  there 
reading  the  grave-stones. 

When  the  Captain  arrived  with  his  gig,  under 
such  extraordinary  headway  that  he  was  near  driving 
across  the  grave-yard  into  the  next  county  —  the 
country  people  scampered  aside,  like  scared  fowl; 
Mrs.  Carrack's  great  coach,  with  its  liveried  outriders, 
set  them  staring  as  if  they  did  not  or  could  not  be 
lieve  their  own  eyes.  With  the  arrival  of  old  Syl 
vester  they  re-gathered,  and,  almost  in  a  body,  prof 
fered  their  aid  to  hold  the  horses— to  help  the  old 
Patriarch  to  the  ground — in  a  word,  to  show  their  re 
gard  and  affection  in  every  way  in  their  power.  He 
tarried  but  a  moment  at  the  door,  to  speak  a  word 
with  one  or  two  of  the  oldest  of  his  neighbors,  and 
passed  in,  followed  by  all  of  his  family  save  Mrs. 
Carrack  and  her  son,  who  under  color  of  hunting  up 


96  CHANTICLEER. 

the  grave  of  some  old  relation,  delay  in  order  to 
make  their  appearance  in  the  meeting-house  by 
themselves,  and  independently  of  the  Peabody  con 
nection. 

Will  you  pardon  me,  reader,  if  I  fail  to  tell  you 
whether  this  house  of  worship  was  of  the  Methodist, 
Episcopal,  or  Baptist  creed,  whether  it  had  a  chancel 
or  altar,  or  painted  windows  ?  Whether  the  pews 
had  doors  to  them  and  were  cushioned  or  not? 
Whether  the  minister  wore  a  gown  and  bands,  or 
plain  suit  of  black,  or  was  undistinguished  in  his 
dress  ?  Will  it  not  suffice  if  I  tell  you,  as  the  very 
belief  of  my  soul,  that  it  was  a  Christian  house,  that 
there  were  seats  for  all,  that  things  were  well  intend 
ed  and  decently  ordered,  and  that  with  a  hymn  sung 
with  such  purity  of  heart  that  its  praises  naturally 
joined  in  with  the  chiming  of  the  trees  and  the  carols 
of  the  birds  without  and  floated  on  without  a  stop  to 
Heaven,  when  a  meek  man  rose  up  : 

Some  two  hundred  years  ago,  our  ancestors  (he 
said,)  finding  themselves  more  comfortable  in  the 
wilderness  of  the  new  world,  than  they  could  have 
reasonably  looked  for,  set  apart  a  day  of  Thanksgiv 
ing  to  Almighty  God  for  his  manifold  mercies.  That 


THE    THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  97 

day,  God  be  praised,  has  been  steadily  observed 
throughout  this  happy  land,  by  cheerful  gatherings 
of  families,  and  other  festive  and  devotional  obser 
vances,  down  to  the  present  time.  Our  fathers  cove 
nanted,  in  the  love  of  Christ,  to  cleave  together,  as 
brethren,  however  hard  the  brunt  of  fortune  might  be. 
That  bond  still  continues.  We  may  not  live  (he  went 
on,  in  the  very  spirit  and  letter  of  the  first  Thanks 
giving  discourse  ever  delivered  amongst  us,)  as  retir 
ed  hermits,  each  in  our  cell  apart,  nor  inquire,  like 
David,  how  liveth  such  a  man  ?  How  is  he  clad  ? 
How  is  he  fed  ?  He  is  my  brother,  we  are  in  league 
together,  we  must  stand  and  fall  by  one  another.  Is 
his  labor  harder  than  mine  ?  Surely  I  will  ease  him. 
Hath  he  no  bed  to  lie  on  ?  I  have  two — I  will  lend 
him  one.  Hath  he  no  apparel  ?  I  have  two  suits 
— I  will  give  him  one  of  them.  Eats  he  coarse  food, 
bread  and  water,  and  have  I  better  ?  Surely  we 
will  part  stakes.  He  is  as  good  a  man  as  I,  and  we 
are  bound  each  to  other  ;  so  that  his  wants  must  be 
my  wants  ;  his  sorrows,  my  sorrows  ;  his  sickness  my 
sickness ;  and  his  welfare  my  welfare ;  for  I  am  as 
he  is ;  such  a  sweet  sympathy  were  excellent,  comfort- 
5 


98  CHANTICLEER. 

able,  nay,  heavenly,  and  is  the  only  maker  and  con- 
server  of  churches  and  commonwealths." 

To  such  as  looked  upon  old  Sylvester  there  seemed 
a  glow  and  halo  about  his  aged  brow  and  whitened 
locks,  for  this  was  the  very  spirit  of  his  life. 

As  though  he  knew  the  very  secrets  of  their  souls,  and 
touched  their  very  heart-strings  with  a  gentle  hand, 
the  preacher  glanced  from  one  member  of  the  Pea- 
body  household  to  another,  as  he  proceeded,  some 
thing  in  this  manner.  (For  William  Peabody  :)  do  I 
find  on  this  holy  day  that  I  love  God  in  all  his  glori 
ous  universe,  more  than  the  image  even  of  Liberty, 
which  hath  ensnared  and  enslaved  the  soul  of  many 
a  man  on  the  coin  of  this  world  ?  (For  buxom  Mrs. 
Jane,  in  her  vandyke  :)  Do  I  stifle  the  vanity  of  good 
looks  and  comfortable  circumstances  under  a  plain 
garb  ?  (For  the  jovial  Captain  :)  Am  I  not  over  hasty 
in  pursuit  of  carnal  enjoyment  ?  (For  Mr.  Oliver  : 
who  was  wiping  his  brow  with  the  Declaration  of  In 
dependence,)  and  eager  over  much  for  the  good  opinion 
of  men,  when  I  should  be  quietly  serving  them  without 
report  ?  (For  Mrs.  Carrack  and  her  son  :)  And  what 
are  pomp  and  fashion,  but  the  painted  signs  of,  good 
living  where  there  is  no  life  ?  These  (he  continued,) 


THE     THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  99 

are  all  outward,  mere  pretences  to  put  off  our  duty, 
and  the  care  of  our  souls.  Yea,  we  may  have 
churches,  schools,  hospitals  abounding — but  these  are 
mere  lath  and  mortar,  if  we  have  not  also  within 
our  own  hearts,  a  church  where  the  pure  worship 
ever  goeth  on,  a  school  where  the  true  knowledge  is 
taught,  a  hospital,  the  door  whereof  standeth  con 
stantly  open,  into  which  our  fellow-creatures  are  wel 
comed  and  where  their  infirmities  are  first  cared  for 
with  all  kindness  and  tenderness.  If  these  be  our 
inclinings  this  day,  let  us  be  reasonably  thankful  on 
this  Thanksgiving  morning.  Let  such  as  are  in 
health  be  thankful  for  their  good  case  ;  and  such  as 
are  out  of  health  be  thankful  that  they  are  no  worse. 
Let  such  as  are  rich  be  thankful  for  their  wealth,  (if 
it  hath  been  honestly  come  by ;)  and  let  such  as  are 
poor  be  thankful  that  they  have  no  such  charge  upon 
their  souls.  Let  old  folks  be  thankful  for  their  wis 
dom  in  knowing  that  young  folks  are  fools  ;  and  let 
young  ones  be  thankful  that  they  may  live  to  see  the 
time  when  they  may  use  the  same  privilege.  Let 
lean  folks  be  thankful  for  their  spare  ribs,  which  are 
not  a  burthen  in  the  harvest-field;  fat  folks  may 
laugh  at  lean  ones,  and  grow  fatter  every  day.  Let 


100  CHANTICLEER. 

married  folks  be  thankful  for  blessings  both  little  and 
great ;  let  bachelors  and  old  maids  be  thankful  for 
the  privilege  of  kissing  other  folks'  babies,  and  great 
good  may  it  do  them. 

With  what  a  glow  of  mutual  friendship  the  quaint 
preacher  was  warming  the  plain  old  meeting-house  on 
that  thanksgiving  day  ! 

Finally,  and  to  conclude,  (he  went  on  in  the  lan 
guage  of  a  chronicle  of  the  time:) — Let  no  man 
look  upon  a  turkey  to-day,  and  say,  '  This  also 
is  vanity.'  What  is  the  life  of  man  without  crea 
ture-comforts,  and  the  stomach  of  the  son  of  man 
with  no  aid  from  the  tin  kitchen  ?  Despise  not  the 
day  of  small  things,  while  there  are  pullets  on  the 
spit,  and  let  every  fowl  have  fair  play,  between  the 
jaws  of  thy  philosophy.  Are  not  puddings  made  to 
be  sliced,  and  pie-crust  to  be  broken  ?  Go  thy  ways, 
then,  according  to  good  sense,  good  cheer,  good  ap 
petite,  the  Governor's  proclamation,  and  every  other 
good  thing  under  the  sun ; — render  thanks  for  all  the 
good  things  of  this  life,  and  good  cookery  among  the 
rest;  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry;  make  not  a  lean  lau 
dation  of  the  bounties  of  Providence,  but  let  a  lively 
gusto  follow  a  long  grace.  Feast  thankfully,  and 


THE     THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  101 

feast  hopingly;  feast  in  good  will  to  all  mankind, 
Grahamites  included ;  feast  in  the  full  and  joyous 
persuasion,  that  while  the  earth  reraaineth,  seed-time 
and  harvest,  dinner-time,  pudding-time,  and  supper- 
time,  are  not  likely  to  go  out  of  fashion  ; — feast  with 
exulting  confidence  in  the  continuance  of  cooks,  kitch 
ens,  and  orthodox  expounders  of  Scripture  and  the 
constitution  in  our  ancient,  blessed,  and  fat-sided 
commonwealth — feast,  in  short,  like  a  good  Christian, 
proving  all  things,  relishing  all  things,  hoping  all 
things,  expecting  all  things,  and  enjoying  all  things. 
Let  a  good  stomach  for  dinner  go  hand  in  hand  with 
a  good  mind  for  sound  doctrine.  Let  us  all  be 
thankful  that  a  gracious  Providence  hath  furnished 
each  and  all  with  a  wholesome  and  bountiful  dinner 
this  day ;  and,  if  there  be  none  so  furnished,  let  him 
now  make  it  known,  and  we  will  instantly  contribute 
thereto  of  our  separate  abundance.  There  are  none 
who  murmur — we  all,  therefore,  have  a  thanksgiving 
dinner  waiting  for  us  ;  let  us  hie  home  cheerily,  and 
in  a  becoming  spirit  of  mirth  and  devotion  partake 
thereof. 

The  windows  of  the  little  meeting-house  were  up 
to  let  in  the  pleasant  sunshine ;  and  the  very  horses 


102  CHANTICLEER. 

who  were  within  hearing  of  his  voice,  seemed  by  the 
pricking  up  of  their  brown  ears  to  relish  and  approve 
of  his  discourse.  The  Captain's  city  nag,  as  wide 
awake  as  any,  seemed  to  address  himself  to  an  ac 
quaintance  of  a  heavy  bay  plougher,  who  stood  at 
the  same  post,  and  laying  their  heads  together  for 
the  better  part  of  the  sermon,  they  appeared  to  re 
gard  it,  as  far  as  they  caught  its  meaning,  as  sound 
doctrine,  particularly  acknowledging  that  this  was  as 
fine  a  thanksgiving  morning  as  they  (who  had  been 
old  friends  and  had  spent  their  youth  together,  being 
in  some  way  related,  in  a  farm-house  in  that  neigh 
borhood)  had  ever  known ;  and  when  they  had  said 
as  much  as  this,  they  laughed  out  in  very  merriness 
of  spirit,  with  a  great  winnow,  as  the  happy  audience 
came  streaming  forth  at  the  meeting-house  door. 
There  were  no  cold,  haughty,  or  distrustful  faces 
now,  as  when  they  had  entered  in  an  hour  ago ;  the 
genial  air  of  the  little  meeting-house  had  melted 
away  all  frosts  of  that  kind  ;  and  as  they  mingled  un 
der  the  sober  autumn-trees,  loitering  for  conversation, 
inquiring  after  neighbors,  old  folks  whose  infirmities 
kept  them  at  home,  the  young  children  ;  they  seem 
ed  indeed,  much  more  a  company  of  brethren,  em- 


THE   THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  103 

barked  (as  sailors  say)  on  a  common  bottom  for  hap 
piness  and  enjoyment.  The  children  were  the  first 
to  set  out  for  home  through  the  fields  on  foot ;  Pea- 
body  the  younger,  little  Sam  and  Robert  being  at 
tended  by  the  footman  in  livery,  whom  Mrs.  Carrack 
relieved  from  attendance  at  the  rear  of  the  coach. 

If  the  quaint  preacher  had  urged  the  rational  en 
joyment  of  the  Thanksgiving  cheer  from  the  pulpit, 
Mopsey  labored  with  equal  zeal  at  home  to  have  it 
worthy   of  enjoyment.     At   an  early  hour  she  had 
cleared  decks,  and  taken  possession  of  the  kitchen : 
kindling,  with  dawn,  a  great  fire  in  the  oven  for  the 
pies,  and  another  on  the  hearth  for  the  turkey.     But 
it  was  from  the  oven,  heaping  it  to  the  top  with  fresh 
relays  of  dry  wood,   that  she  expected  the  Thanks 
giving  angel  to  walk  in  all  his  beauty  and  majesty. 
In  performance  of  her  duty,   and  from  a  sense  only 
that  there  could  be  no  thanksgiving  without  a  turkey, 
she  planted  the  tin  oven  on  the   hearth,  spitted  the 
gobbler,  and  from  time  to  time,  merely  as  a  matter 
of  absolute  necessity,  gave  it  a  turn  ;  but  about  the 
mouth  of  the  great  oven  she  hovered  constantly,  like 
a  spirit — had  her  head  in  and  out  at  the  opening 
every  other  minute ;  and,  when  at  last  the  pies  were 


104  CHANTICLEER. 

slided  in  upon  the  warm  bottom,  she  lingered  there 
regarding  the  change  they  were  undergoing  with  the 
fond  admiration  with  which  a  connoisseur  in  sunsets 
hangs  upon  the  changing  colors  of  the  evening  sky. 
The  leisure  this  double  duty  allowed  her  was  employ 
ed  by  Mopsey  in  scaring  away  the  poultry  and  idle 
young  chickens  which  rushed  in  at  the  back  entrance 
of  the  kitchen  in  swarms,  and  hopped  with  yellow 
legs  about  the  floor  with  the  racket  of  constant  falling 
showers  of  corn.  Upon  the  half  door  opening  on  the 
front  the  red  rooster  had  mounted,  and  with  his  head 
on  one  side  observed  with  a  knowing  eye  all  that 
went  forward;  showing  perhaps  most  interest  in  the 
turning  of  the  spit,  the  impalement  of  the  turkey 
thereon  having  been  with  him  an  object  of  special 
consideration. 

The  highly  colored  picture  of  Warren  at  Bunker- 
Hill,  writhing  in  his  death-agony  on  one  wall  of  the 
kitchen,  and  General  Marion  feasting  from  a  potato, 
in  his  tent,  on  the  other,  did  not  in  the  least  attract 
the  attention  of  Mopsey.  She  saw  nothing  on  the 
whole  horizon  of  the  glowing  apartment  but  the 
pies  and  the  turkey,  and  even  for  the  moment  ne 
glected  to  puzzle  herself,  as  she  was  accustomed  to  in 


THE    THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  105 

the  pauses  of  her  daily  labors,  with  the  wonders 
and  mysteries  of  an  ancient  dog-eared  spelling-book 
which  lay  upon  the  smoky  mantel. 

Meanwhile,  in  obedience  to  the  spirit  of  the  day, 
the  widow  Margaret  and  Miriam,  having  each  dili 
gently  disposed  of  their  separate  charge  in  the  pre 
parations,  making  a  church  of  the  homestead,  con 
ducted  a  worship  in  their  own  simple  way.  Opposite 
to  each  other  in  the  little  sitting-room,  Miriam  open 
ed  the  old  Family  Bible,  and  at  the  widow  Margaret's 
request  read  from  that  chapter  which  gives  the  story 
of  the  prodigal  son.  It  was  with  a  clear  and  pensive 
voice  that  she  read,  but  not  without  a  struggle  with 
herself.  Where  the  story  told  that  the  young  man 
had  gone  into  a  far  country  ;  that  he  had  wasted  his 
substance  in  riotous  living ;  that  he  was  abased  to  the 
feeding  of  swine  ;  that  he  craved  in  his  hunger  the 
very  husks ;  that  he  lamented  the  plenty  of  his 
father's  house — a  cloud  came  upon  her  countenance, 
and  the  simplest  eye  could  have  interpreted  the 
thoughts  that  troubled  her.  And  how  the  fair  young 
face  brightened,  when  she  read  that  the  young  man 
resolved  to  arise  and  return  to  the  house  of  his 
father  ;  the  dear  encounter ;  the  rejoicing  over  his 


106  CHANTICLEER. 

return,  and  the  glad  proclamation,  "  This,  my  son,  was 
dead  and  is  alive  again  ;  he  was  lost  and  is  found." 

"  If  he  would  come  back  even  so,"  said  the  widow 
when  the  book  was  closed,  "  in  sorrow,  in  poverty,  in 
crime  even,  I  would  thank  God  and  be  grateful." 

"  He  is  not  guilty,  mother,5'  Miriam  pleaded,  cast 
ing  her  head  upon  the  widow's  bosom  and  clinging 
close  about  her  neck. 

"  I  will  not  think  that  he  is,"  Margaret  answered, 
lifting  up  her  head.  "  Guilty  or  innocent,  he  is  my 
son — my  son."  Clasping  the  young  orphan's  hand, 
after  a  pause  of  tender  silence,  she  gave  utterance  to 
her  feelings  in  a  Thanksgiving  hymn.  These  were 
the  words : — 

Father  1  protect  the  wanderer  on  his  way ; 

Bright  be  for  him  thy  stars  and  calm  thy  seas — 
Thanksgiving  live  upon  his  lips  to-day, 

And  in  his  heart  the  good  man's  summer  ease. 

Almighty  I  Thou  canst  bring  the  pilgrim  back, 
With  a  clear  brow  to  this  his  childish  home ; 

Guide  him,  dear  Father,  o'er  a  blameless  track, 
No  more  to  stray  from  us,  no  more  to  roam. 

At  this  moment  a  tumult  of  children's  voices  was 
heard  in  the  door-yard,  and  as  the  widow  turned, 
young  William  Peabody  was  seen  struggling  with 


THE    THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  107 

Robert  and  little  Sam,  who  were  holding  him  back 
with  all  their  force.  As  he  dragged  them  forward, 
being  their  elder  and  superior  in  strength,  Peabody 
Junior  stretched  his  throat  and  called  towards  the 
house — "  I've  seen  him — I've  seen  him !" 

"  Who  have  you  seen  ?"  asked  the  widow,  rising 
and  approaching  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Barbary."  When  Peabody  Junior  made 
this  answer  the  widow  advanced  with  a  gleam  on  her 
countenance,  and  gently  releasing  him,  said,  "  Come, 
William,  and  tell  us  all  about  it." 

"  Aunt  Margaret,"  said  Robert,  thrusting  himself 
between,  "  don't  listen  to  a  word  he  has  to  say.  I'll 
tell  you  all  about  it.  You  see  we  were  coming  home 
from  meeting,  and  little  Sam  got  tired,  and  William 
and  I  made  a  cradle  of  our  hands  and  were  carrying 
him  along  very  nice." 

"  Not  so  very  nice,  either,"  Peabody  Junior  inter 
rupted,  "  for  I  was  plaguy  tired." 

"  That's  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  Aunt  Mar 
garet.  Bill  did  get  tired,  and  as  we  came  through 
the  Locust  Wood,  he  made  believe  to  see  something, 
and  run  away  to  get  clear  of  carrying  little  Sam  any 
further." 


108  CHANTICLEER. 

"  I  did  see  him  !"  said  Peabody  Junior,  firmly. 

"  Where  was  he  ?"  the  widow  asked. 

"  Behind  the  hazel-bush,  with  his  head  just  looking 
out  at  the  top,  all  turned  white  as  dead  folks  do." 

Mopsey  was  in  immediately  with  her  dark  head, 
crying  out,  "  Don't  belief  a  word  of  it." 

"  I  guess  you  saw  nothing  but  the  hazel-bush, 
William,"  said  the  widow. 

"  That  was  it,  Aunt ;  it  was  the  hazel-bush  with  a 
great  mop  of  moss  on  it,"  Robert  added. 

Miriam  sat  looking  on  and  listening,  pale  and 
trembling. 

"  If  your  cousin  Elbridge  and  Mr.  Barbary  should 
ever  come  back,"  said  the  widow,  addressing  Pea- 
body  Junior,  "  you  would  be  sorry  for  what  you  have 
said,  William." 

"  So  he  would,  Aunt,"  echoed  Robert. 

Mopsey  was  in  again  from  the  kitchen ;  this  time 
she  advanced  several  steps  from  the  door-sill  into  the 
room,  lifted  up  both  her  arms  and  addressed  the 
assembled  company. 

"  One  ting  I  know,"  said  Mopsey,  "  dere's  a  big 
pie  baking  in  dat  ere  oven,  and  if  Mas'r  Elbridge 
don't  eat  that  pie  it'll  haf  to  sour,  dat  I  know." 


THE    THANKSGIVING    SERMON.  109 

"  What  is  it,  Mopsey,"  asked  Margaret,  "  that 
gives  you  such  a  faith  in  my  son?" 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Missus,"  Mopsey  answered 
promptly,  "  dast  tanksgivin  when  I  tumbled  down 
on  dis  ere  sef-same  floor  bringin'  in  de  turkey,  every 
body  laugh  but  Mas'r  Elbridge,  and  he  come  from  his 
place  and  pick  me  up.  He  murder  any  body!  I'll 
eat  de  whole  tanksgivin  dinner  myself  if  he  touch 
a  hair  of  de  old  preacher's  head  to  hurt  it."  Sud 
denly  changing  her  tone,  she  added,  "  Dey're  comin' 
from  meetin',  I  hear  de  old  wagon." 


CHAPTER     EIGHTH. 

THE    DINNER. 

As  the  Peabodys  approached  the  homestead,  the 
smoke  of  the  kitchen  chimney  was  visible,  circling 
upward  and  winding  about  in  the  sunshine  as  though 
it  had  been  a  delicate  corkscrew  uncorking  a  great 
bottle  or  square  old  flask  of  a  delicious  vintage.  The 
Captain  averred  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  the  mo 
ment  they  had  come  upon  the  brow  of  the  hill,  that 
he  had  a  distinct  savor  of  the  fragrance  of  the  turkey, 
and  that  it  was  quite  as  refreshing  as  the  first  odor 
of  the  land  breeze  coming  in  from  sea,  and  he  snuffed 
it  up  with  a  zeal  and  relish  which  gave  the  gig  an 
eager  appetite  for  dinner.  The  Captain's  conjecture 
was  strongly  confirmed  in  the  appearance  of  Mopsey, 
darting,  with  a  dark  face  of  dewy  radiance  at  the 
wood-pile  and  shuffling  back  with  bustling  speed  to 
the  kitchen  with  a  handful  of  delicate  splinters. 
"  She's  giving  him  the  last  turn,"  said  the  Captain. 


THE    DINNER.  Ill 

The  shadow  of  the  little  meeting-house  was  still 
over  the  Captain,  even  so  far  away,  for  he  conducted 
the  procession  homeward  at  a  pace  much  less  furious 
than  that  with  which  he  had  advanced  in  the  morn 
ing;  and  Mrs.  Carrack  too,  observed  now,  with  a 
strange  pleasure,  what  she  had  given  no  heed  to  be 
fore  when  the  fine  coach  was  rolling  in  triumph  along 
the  road, — birds  twittering  in  the  sunny  air  by  the 
wayside,  and  cattle  roving  like  figures  in  a  beautiful 
picture,  upon  the  slopes  of  the  distant  hills.  Oliver, 
the  politician,  more  than  once  had  out  the  great  cot 
ton  pocket-handkerchief,  and  holding  it  spread  before 
him  contemplating  the  fatherly  signers,  was  evident 
ly  acquiring  some  new  lights  on  the  subject  of  inde 
pendence. 

A  change,  in  fine,  of  some  sort  or  other,  had  pass 
ed  over  every  member  of  the  Peabody  family  save 
old  Sylvester,  returning  as  going,  calm,  plain-spoken, 
straightforward  and  patriarchal.  When  they  reach 
ed  the  gate  of  the  homestead,  William  Peabody  gave 
his  hand  to  his  wife  and  helped  her,  with  some  show 
of  attention,  to  alight;  and  then  there  could  be  no 
doubt  that  it  was  in  very  truth  Thanksgiving  day,  for 
the  glory  of  the  door-yard  itself  had  paled  and  disap- 


112  CHANTICLEER. 

peared  in  the  gorgeous  festal  light.  There  was  no 
majestic  gobbler  in  the  door-yard  now,  with  his  great 
outspread  tail,  which  in  the  proud  moments  of  his 
life  he  would  have  expanded  as  if  to  shut  the  very 
light  of  the  sun  from  all  meaner  creatures  of  the 
mansion. 

Within  doors  there  was  that  bustling  preparation, 
with  brief  lulls  of  ominous  silence  which  precede  and 
usher  a  great  event.  The  widow  Margaret,  with 
noiseless  step,  glided  to  and  fro,  Miriam  daintily  hov 
ering  in  the  suburbs  of  the  sitting-room,  which  is  evi 
dently  the  grand  centre  of  interest,  and  Mopsey  toils 
like  a  swart  goblin  in  her  laboratory  of  the  kitchen  in 
a  high  glow,  scowling  fearfully  if  addressed  with  a 
word  which  calls  her  attention  for  a  moment  away 
from  her  critical  labors. 

As  the  family  entered  the  homestead  on  their  re 
turn,  the  combined  forces  were  just  at  the  point  of 
pitching  their  tent  on  the  ground  of  the  forthcoming 
engagement,  in  the  shape  of  the  ancient  four-legged 
and  wide-leaved  table,  with  a  cover  of  snowy  white 
ness,  ornamented  as  with  shields  and  weapons  of 
quaint  device,  in  the  old  plates  of  pewter  and  the 
horn-handled  knives  and  forks  burnished  to  such  a 


THE    DINNER.  113 

polish  as  to  make  the  little  room  fairly  glitter. 
Dishes  streamed  in  one  after  the  other  in  a  long  and 
rapid  procession,  piles  of  home-made  bread,  basins  of 
apple-sauce,  pickles,  potatoes  of  vast  proportion  and 
mealy  beauty.  When  the  ancient  and  lordly  pitcher 
of  blue  and  white  (whether  freighted  with  new  cider 
or  old  cold  water  need  not  be  told)  crowned  the 
board,  the  first  stage  of  preparation  was  complete, 
and  another  portentous  pause  ensued.  The  whole 
Peabody  connection  arranged  in  stately  silence  in  the 
front  parlor,  looked  on  through  the  open  door  in  won 
der  and  expectation  of  what  was  to  follow.  The 
children  loitered  about  the  door-ways  with  watering 
eyes  and  open  mouths,  like  so  many  innocent  little 
dragons  lying  in  wait  to  rush  in  at  an  opportune  mo 
ment  and  bear  off  their  prey. 

And  now,  all  at  once  there  comes  a  deeper  hush — 
a  still  more  portentous  pause — all  eyes  are  in  the 
direction  of  the  kitchen  ;  the  children  are  hanging 
forward  with  their  bodies  and  outstretched  necks  half 
way  in  at  the  door;  Miriam  and  the  widow  stand 
breathless  and  statue-like  at  either  side  of  the  room  ; 
when,  as  if  rising  out  of  some  mysterious  cave  in  the 
very  ground,  a  dark  figure  is  discerned  in  the  dis- 


114  CHANTICLEER. 

tance,  about  the  centre  of  the  kitchen,  (into  which 
Mopsey  has  made,  to  secure  an  impressive  effect,  a 
grand  circuit,)  head  erect,  and  bearing-  before  it  a 
huge  platter ;  all  their  eyes  tell  them,  every  sense 
vividly  reports  what  it  is  the  platter  supports  ;  she 
advances  with  slow  and  solemn  step  ;  she  has  crosse'd 
the  sill ;  she  has  entered  the  sitting-room ;  and,  with 
a  ful)  sense  of  her  awful  responsibility,  Mopsey  deli 
vers  on  the  table,  in  a  cleared  place  left  for  its  care 
ful  deposit,  the  Thanksgiving  turkey. 

There  is  no  need  now  to  sound  a  gong,  or  to  ring 
an  alarm-bell  to  make  known  to  that  household  that 
dinner  is  ready  ;  the  brown  turkey  speaks  a  sum 
mons  as  with  the  voice  of  a  thousand  living  gobblers, 
and  Sylvester  rising,  the  whole  Peabody  family  flock 
in.  To  every  one  his  place  is  considerately  assigned, 
the  Captain  in  the  centre  directly  opposite  the  turkey, 
Mrs.  Carrack  on  the  other  side,  the  widow  at  one  end, 
old  Sylvester  at  the  head.  The  children  too,  a  special 
exception  being  made  in  their  favor  to-day,  are  allow 
ed  seats  with  the  grown  folks,  little  Sam  disposing 
himself  in  great  comfort  in  his  old  grandsire's  arms. 

Another  hush— for  everything  to-day  moves  on 
through  these  constantly  shut  and  opened  gates 


THE     DINNER.  115 

of  silence,  in  which  they  all  sit  tranquil  and  speech 
less,  when  the  old  patriarch  lifts  up  his  aged  hands 
over  the  board  and  repeats  his  customary  grace  : 

"  May  we  all  be  Christian  people  the  day  we  die 
—God  bless  us." 

The  Captain,  the  great  knife  and  fork  in  hand,  was 
ready  to  advance. 

"  Stop  a  moment,  Charley,"  old  Sylvester  spoke 
up,  "  give  us  a  moment  to  contemplate  the  turkey." 

"  I  would  there  were  just  such  a  dish,  grandfather," 
the  Captain  rejoined,  "  on  every  table  in  the  land  thic 
day,  and  if  I  had  my  way  there  would  be." 

""  No,  no,  Charley,"  the  grandfather  answered,  "  if 
there  should  be,  there  would  be.  There  is  One  who 
is  wiser  than  you  or  I." 

"  It  would  make  the  man  who  would  do  it,"  Oliver 
suggested,  "  immensely  popular  :  he  might  get  to  be 
elected  President  of  the  United  States." 

"  It  would  cost  a  large  sum,"  remarked  William 
Peabody,  the  merchant. 

"  Let  us  leave  off  considering  imaginary  turkeys, 
and  discuss  the  one  before  us,"  said  old  Sylvester, 
"  but  I  must  first  put  a  question,  and  if  it 's  answer 
ed  with  satisfaction,  we'll  proceed.  Now  tell  me,"  he 


116  CHANTICLEER. 

said,  addressing  himself  to  Mr.  Carrack,  who  sat  in  a 
sort  of  dream,  as  if  he  had  lost  his  identity,  as  he 
had  ever  since  the  night-adventure  in  the  fez-cap  and 
red  silk  cloak  :  "  Now  tell  me,  Tiffany,  although  you 
have  doubtless  seen  a  great  many  grand  things,  such 
as  the  Alps,  and  St.  Peter's  church  at  Rome,  has 
your  eye  fallen  in  with  anything  wherever  you  travel 
led  over  the  world,  grander  than  that  Thanksgiving 
turkey  ?" 

Mr.  Carrack,  either  from  excessive  modesty  or  to 
tal  abstraction,  hesitated,  looked  about  him  hastily, 
and  not  till  the  Captain  called  across  the  table, 
"  Why  don't  you  speak,  my  boy  ?"  and  then,  as  if 
suddenly  coming  to,  and  realizing  where  he  was, 
answered  at  last,  with  great  deliberation,  "  It  is  a 
fine  bird." 

"  Enough  said,"  spoke  up  old  Sylvester  cheerfully  ; 
"  you  were  the  last  Peabody  I  expected  to  acknow 
ledge  the  merits  of  the  turkey ;"  and,  looking  to 
wards  the  Captain  with  encouragement,  added,  "  now, 
knife  and  fork,  do  your  duty." 

It  was  short  work  the  jovial  Captain  made  with 
the  prize  turkey;  in  rapid  succession  plates  were  for 
warded,  heaped,  sent  around  ;  and  with  a  keen  relish 


THE     DINNER.  117 

of  the  Thanksgiving  dinner,  every  head  was  busy. 
Straight  on,  as  people  who  have  an  allotted  task  be 
fore  them,  the  Peabodys  moved  through  the  dinner, 
— a  powerful,  steady-going  caravan  of  cheerful  travel 
lers,  over  hill,  over  dale,  up  the  valleys,  along  the 
stream-side,  cropping  their  way  like  a  nimble-toothed 
flock  of  grazing  sheep,  keenly  enjoying  herbage  and 
beverage  by  the  way. 

What  though,  while  they  were  at  the  height  of  its 
enjoyment  a  sudden  storm,  at  that  changeful  season, 
arose  without,  and  dashed  its  heavy  drops  against  the 
doors  and  window-panes  ;  that  only,  by  the  contrast 
of  security  and  fire-side  comfort,  heightened  the  zest 
within,  while  they  were  engaged  with  the  many  good 
dishes  at  least,  but  when  another  pause  came,  did  not 
the  pelting  shower  and  the  chiding  wind  talk  with 
.them,  each  one  in  turn,  of  the  absent,  and  oh  !  some 
there  will  not  believe  it — the  lost  ?  It  was  no  doubt 
some  thought  of  this  kind  that  prompted  old  Sylves 
ter  to  speak  : 

"My  children,"  said  the  patriarch,  glancing  with  a 
calm  eye  around  the  circle  of  glowing  faces  at  the  ta 
ble  "  you  are  bound  together  with  good  cheer  and  in 
comfortable  circumstances ;  and  even  as  you,  who  are 


118  CHANTICLEER. 

here  from  east  and  west,  from  trie  north  and  the 
south,  by  each  one  yielding  a  little  of  his  individual 
whim  or  inclination,  can  thus  sit  together  prosperous 
ly  and  in  peace  at  one  board,  so  can  our  glorious 
family  of  friendly  States,  on  this  and  every  other  day, 
join  hands,  and  like  happy  children  in  the  fields,  lead 
a  far-lengthening  dance  of  festive  peace  among  the 
mountains  and  among  the  vales,  from  the  soft-glim 
mering  east  far  on  to  the  bright  and  ruddy  west. 
If  others  still  seek  to  join  in — " 

"  Ay,  father,"  said  Oliver,  "  there  is  a  great  dan 
ger." 

"  Even  as  by  making  a  little  way,"  answered  the 
patriarch,  "  we  could  find  room  at  this  table  for  one 
or  two  or  three  more,  so  may  another  State  and  still 
another  join  us,  if  it  will,  and  even  as  our  natural 
progeny  increaseth  to  the  third,  fourth,  tenth  genera 
tion,  let  us  trust  for  centuries  to  come  this  happy 
Union  still  shall  live  to  lead  her  sons  to  peace,  prospe 
rity,  and  rightful  glory." 

"But,"  interposed  Oliver,  the  politician,  again, 
with  a  double  reference  in  his  thoughts,  it  would  al 
most  seem,  to  an  erring  State  or  an  absent  child,  "  one 
may  break  away  in  wilfulness  or  crime— what  then?" 


THE     DINNER.  119 

"  Let  us  lure  it  back,"  was  old  Sylvester's  reply, 
"  with  gentle  appeals.  Remember  we  are  all  breth 
ren,  and  that  our  alliance  is  one  not  merely  of  world 
ly  interest,  but  also  of  family  affection.  Let  us,  on 
this  hallowed  day,"  he  added,  "cherish  none  but 
kindly  thoughts  toward  all  our  kindred,  and  if  him 
we  have  least  esteemed  offer  the  hand,  let  us  take  it 
in  brotherly  regard." 

There  was  a  pause  of  silence  once  again,  which  was 
broken  by  a  knock  at  the  door.  Old  Sylvester,  hav 
ing  spoken  his  mind,  had  fallen  into  a  reverie,  and 
the  Peabodys  glancing  one  to  the  other,  the  question 
arose,  shall  the  strangers  (Mopsey  reported  them  to 
be  two)  whoever  they  may  be,  be  admitted  ? 

"This  is  strictly  a  family  festival,"  it  was  suggest 
ed,  "  where  no  strangers  can  be  rightly  allowed." 

"  May  be  thieves !"  the  merchant  added. 

"  Vagabonds,  perhaps  !"  Mrs.  Carrack  suggested. 

"  Strangers,  anyhow !"  said  Mrs.  Jane  Peabody. 

The  widow  Margaret  and  Miriam  were  silent  and 
gave  utterance  to  no  opinion. 

In  the  midst  of  the  discussion  old  Sylvester  sud 
denly  awakening,  and  rearing  his  white  locks  aloft,  in 


120  CHANTICLEER. 

the  voice  of  a  trumpet  of  silver  sound,  oried  out  :— 
"  If  they  be  human,  let  'em  in  !" 

As  he  delivered  this  emphatic  order  there  was  a 
deep  moan  at  the  door,  as  of  one  in  great  pain,  or 
suffering  keenly  from  anguish  of  spirit,  and  when  it 
was  opened  to  admit  the  new-comers,  the  voice  of 
Chanticleer,  raised  for  the  second  time,  broke  in, 
clear  and  shrilly,  from  the  outer  darkness. 


CHAPTER    NINTH. 

THE    NEW-COMERS. 

IT  was  old  Sylvester  himself  who  opened  the  door 
and  admitted  the  strangers  ;  one  of  them,  the  young 
er,  wore  a  slouched  hat  which  did  not  allow  his  fea 
tures  to  be  distinctly  observed,  further  than  that  his 
eyes  were  bright  with  a  strange  lustre,  and  that  his 
face  was  deadly  pale.  He  was  partly  supported  by 
the  elder  man,  whose  person  was  clad  in  a  long  coat, 
reaching  nearly  to  the  ground.  They  were  invited 
to  the  table,  but  refusing,  asked  permission  to  sit  at 
the  fire,  which  being  granted,  they  took  their  station 
on  either  side  of  the  hearth ;  the  younger  staggered 
feebly  to  his  seat,  and  kept  his  gaze  closely  fixed  on 
the  other. 

"  He  had  better  take  something,"  said  old  Sylves 
ter,  looking  toward  the  young  man  and  addressing 
the  other.  "  Is  your  young  friend  ill?" 

"  With  an  ailment  food  cannot  relieve,  I  fear,"  the 
elder  man  answered. 


*122  CHANTICLEER. 

"  Will  you  not  remove  your  hats  ?"  old  Sylvester 
asked  again. 

Turning  slowly  at  this  question,  the  young  man 
answered,  "  We  may  not  prove  fit  company  for  such 
as  you,  and  if  so  the  event  shall  prove,  we  will  pass 
on  and  trouble  you  no  further.  If  every  thread  were 
dry  as  summer  flax,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  deep  feel 
ing,  "  I  for  one,  am  not  fit  to  sit  among  honest  peo 
ple." 

"  You  should  not  say  so,  my  son,"  said  old  Sylves 
ter  ;  "  let  us  hope  that  all  men  may  on  a  clay  lib; 
this  sit  together ;  that,  remembering  God's  many  mer 
cies  to  us  all,  in  the  preservation  of  our  lives,  in  his 
blessed  change  of  seasons,  in  hours  of  holy  medita 
tion  allowed  to  us,  every  man  in  very  gratitude  to 
the  Giver  of  all  Good,  for  this  one  day  in  the  year  at 
least,  may  suspend  all  evil  thoughts  and  be  at  peace 
with  all  his  fellow-creatures." 

The  young  man  turned  toward  the  company  at  the 
table,  but  not  so  far  that  his  whole  face  could  be 
seen. 

"  Have  all  who  sit  about  you  at  that  table,"  he 
asked,  glancing  slowly  around,  "performed  the  duty 
to  which  you  refer,  and  purged  their  bosoms  of  un- 


THE     NEW-COMERS.  123- 

kindness  toward  their  fellow-men?  Is  there  none 
who  grasps  the  widow's  substance?  who  cherishes 
scorn  and  hatred  of  kindred  ?  Who  judges  harshly 
of  the  absent  ?" 

There  was  a  movement  in  different  members  of  the 
company,  but  old  Sylvester  hushed  them  with  a  look, 
and  took  upon  himself  the  business  of  reply. 

"  It  may  be,"  said  old  Sylvester,  "  that  some  of  us 
are  disquieted,  for  be  it  known  to  you  that  one  of  the 
children  of  this  household  is  absent  from  among  us 
for  causes  which  may  well  disturb  our  thoughts." 

"I  have  heard  the  story,"  the  young  man  con 
tinued,  "  and  if  I  know  it  aright,  these  are  the  truths 
of  that  history  :  There  were  two  men,  friends,  once  in 
this  neighborhood,  Mr.  Barbary  the  preacher,  and 
your  grandson  Elbridge  Peabody.  Something  like  a 
year  ago  the  preacher  suddenly  disappeared  from  this 
region,  and  the  report  arose  and  constantly  spread 
that  he  had  fallen  by  the  hand  of  his  friend,  that 
grandchild  of  yours.  It  began  in  a  cloudy  whisper, 
afar  off,  but  swelled  from  day  to  day,  from  hour  to 
hour,  till  it  overshadowed  this  whole  region,  and  not 
the  least  of  the  darkness  it  caused  was  on  this  spot, 
where  this  ancient  homestead  stands,  and  where 


124  CHANTICLEER. 

the  young  man  had  grown  and  lived  from  the  hour 
of  his  birth.  He  saw  coldness  and  avoidance  on  the 
highway  ;  he  was  shrunk  from  on  sabbath-mornings, 
and  by  children ;  but  this  was  little  and  could  be 
borne — the  world  was  against  him  :  but  when  he 
saw  an  aged  face  averted,"  he  looked  at  old  Sylvester 
steadily,  "  and  a  mother's  countenance  sad  and  hos 
tile—" 

"  Sad — but  not  hostile,"  the  widow  murmured. 

"  Sorrowful  and  troubled,  at  least,"  the  young  man 
rejoined,  "  his  life,  for  all  of  happiness,  was  at  an 
end.  He  must  cease  to  live  or  he  must  restore  the 
ancient  sunshine  which  had  lighted  the  windows  of 
the  home  of  his  boyhood.  He  knew  that  his  friend 
had  not  fallen  by  his  hand  ;  that  he  still  lived,  but  in 
a  far  distant  place  which  none  but  a  long  and  weary 
journey  could  reach." 

"  He  should  have  declared  as  much,"  interposed 
the  old  patriarch. 

"  No,  sir  ;  his  word  would  have  been  but  as  the 
frail  leaf  blown  idly  from  the  autumn-bough  ;  nothing 
but  the  living  presence  of  his  friend  could  silence  the 
voice  of  the  accuser.  He  rose  up  and  departed,  with 
out  counsel  of  any,  trusting  only  in  God  and  his  own 


THE    NEW-COMERS.  125 

strength  ;  he  bore  with  him  neither  bag  nor  baggage, 
scrip  nor  scrippage — not  even  a  change  of  raiment ; 
but  with  a  handful  of  fruit  and  the  humble  provision 
which  his  good  mother  had  furnished  for  the  harvest- 
field,  he  set  forth  j  day  and  night  he  journeyed  on 
the  track  he  knew  his  friend  had  taken  to  that  far 
country,  toiling  in  the  fields  to  secure  food  and  lodg 
ing  for  the  night,  and  some  scant  aids  to  carry  him 
from  place  to  place.  Pushing  on  fast  and  far  through 
the  western  country,  in  hunger  and  distress,  passing 
by  the  very  door  of  prosperous  kinsfolk,  but  not  tarry 
ing  a  moment  to  seek  relief." 

At  this  point  Mrs.  Jane  Peabody  glanced  at  her 
husband. 

"  And  so  by  one  stage  and  another,  hastening  on, 
he  reached  that  great  city  in  the  south,  the  metropo 
lis  of  New  Orleans ;  often,  as  he  hoped,  on  the  very 
steps  of  his  friend,  but  never  overtaking  him,  with 
fortune  at  so  low  an  ebb  that  there  he  was  well-nigh 
wasted  in  strength,  hunger-stricken,  and  tattered  in 
dress ;  driven  to  live  in  hovels  till  some  chance  re 
stored  him  the  little  means  to  advance ;  so  mean  of 
person  that  his  dearest  friend,  his  nearest  kinsman, 
even  his  old  playfellow  there,"  pointing  to  Mr.  Tif- 


126  CHANTICLEER. 

fany  Carrack,  "  who  had  wrestled  with  him  in  the 
hayfield,  who  had  sat  with  him  in  childish  talk  often 
and  many  a  time  by  summer  stream-sides,  would  have 
passed  him  by  as  one  unknown." 

The  glance  which,  in  speaking  this,  he  directed  at 
Mr.  Carrack,  kindled  on  that  young  gentleman's  coun 
tenance  a  ruby  glow,  so  intense  and  fiery  that  it 
would  seem  as  if  it  must  have  burned  up  the  tawny 
tufts  before  their  very  eyes,  like  so  much  dry  stub 
ble.  There  was  a  glow  of  another  kind  in  the  Cap 
tain's  broad  face,  which  shone  like  another  sun  as 
lie  contemplated  the  two  young  men,  glancing  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"  The  young  man,  bent  on  that  one  purpose  as  on 
life  itself,"  he  continued,  silencing  his  companion, 
who  seemed  eager  to  speak,  with  a  motion  of  his  fin 
ger,  "  through  towns,  over  waters,  upon  deserts,  still 
pursued  his  way ;  and,  to  be  brief  in  a  weary  history, 
there,  in  the  very  heart  of  that  great  region  of  gold, 
among  diggers  and  searchers,  and  men  distracted  in 
a  thousand  ways  in  that  perilous  hunt,  to  find  his  sim 
ple-hearted  friend,  the  preacher,  in  an  out-of-the-way 
wilderness  among  the  mountains,  exhorting  the  liv 
ing,  comforting  the  sick,  consoling  the  dying— and 


THE    NEW-COMERS.  127 

then,  for  the  first  time  he  learned,  what  his  friend 
had  carefully  concealed  before,  the  motive  of  his  self- 
banishment  to  this  distant  country." 

His  companion  would  have  spoken,  but  the  young 
man  hurrying  on,  allowed  him  not  a  word. 

"  You  who  know  his  history,"  he  continued,  address 
ing  the  company  at  the  table — "  know  what  calamity 
had  once  come  upon  the  household  of  Mr.  Barbary,  by 
the  unlawful  thirst  for  gold  ;  that  he  held  its  love  as 
the  curse  of  curses  ;  he  thought  if  he  could  but  once 
throw  himself  in  its  midst,  where  that  passion  raged 
the  most,  he  would  be  doing  his  Master's  service  most 
faithfully,  more  than  in  this  quiet   country-place  of 
peaceful  households,  but  when  he  learned  the  peril 
and  the  sore  distress  of  his  young  friend,  he  tarried 
not  a  moment.     'To   restore  peace  to  one   injured 
mind,'    he   said ;    *  to  bring   back   harmony  to   one 
household  is  a  clear  and  certain  duty  which  will  out 
weigh  the  vague  chances  of  the  good  I  may  do  here.' 
The  young  man  cherished  but  one  wish;  through 
storm  and  trial  and  distress  of  every  name  and  hue, 
if  he  could  but  reach  home  on  the  day  of  Thanks 
giving,  and  stand  up  there  before  his  assembled  kin 
dred  a  vindicated  man,  he  would  be  requited  fully 


]28  CHANTICLEER. 

for  all  his  toil.  He  took  ship  ;  in  tempest,  and  with 
many  risks  of  perishing  far  away  unvindicated,  in  the 
middle  of  the  wild  sea — " 

The  widowed  mother  could  restrain  herself  no 
longer,  but  rushing  forward,  she  removed  the  young 
man's  hat  from  his  brow,  parted  his  locks,  and  cast 
ing  herself  upon  his  neck,  gave  utterance  to  her  feel 
ings  in  the  affecting  language  of  Scripture,  which  she 
had  listened  to  in  the  morning :  "  My  son  was  dead 
and  is  alive  again — he  was  lost  and  is  found !" 

Miriam  timidly  grasped  his  offered  hand  and  was 
silent.  The  company  had  risen  from  the  table  and 
gathered  around. 

"  Now,"  said  William  Peabody,  "  I  could  believe, 
— be  glad  to  believe  all  this,  if  he  had  but  brought 
Mr.  Barbary  with  him." 

The  elder  stranger  cast  back  his  coat,  removed  his 
hat,  and  standing  forth,  said,  "  I  am  here,  and  testify 
to  the  truth,  in  every  word,  of  all  my  young  friend 
has  declared  to  you." 

On  this  declaration  the  Pcabodys,  without  an  ex 
ception,  hastened  to  welcome  and  address  the  return 
ed  Elbridge,  and  closed  upon  him  in  a  solid  group 
of  affectionate  acknowledgment.  Old  Sylvester  stood 


THE    NEW-COMERS.  129 

looking  loftily  down  over  all  from  the  outer  edge  of 
the  circle,  and  while  they  were  busiest  in  congratu 
lations  and  well-wishes,  he  went  forward. 

"  Stand  back !"  cried  the  old  man,  waving  the  com 
pany  aside  with  outspread  arms,  and  advancing  with 
extended  hand  toward  his  grandson.  "  I  have  an 
atonement  to  render  here,  which  I  call  you  all  to 
witness." 

"  I  take  your  hand,  grandfather,"  Elbridge  inter 
posed,  "  but  not  in  acknowledgment  of  any  wrong  on 
your  part.  You  have  lived  an  hundred  blameless 
years,  and  I  am  not  the  one  this  day  to  breathe  a  re 
proach  for  the  first  time  on  your  spotless  age." 

Tears  filled  the  old  patriarch's  eyes,  and  with  a 
gentle  hand  he  led  his  grandson  silently  to  the  table, 
to  which  the  whole  company  returned,  there  being 
room  for  Mr.  Barbary  as  well. 

At  this  crisis  of  triumphant  explanation,  Mopsey, 
who  had  under  one  pretext  and  another,  evaded  the 
bringing  in  of  the  pie  to  the  last  moment,  appeared 
at  the  kitchen-door  bearing  before  her,  with  that  air 
of  extraordinary  importance  peculiar  to  the  negro 
countenance  on  eventful  occasions,  a  huge  brown  dish 
with  which  she  advanced  to  the  head  of  the  table, 
6* 


130  CHANTICLEER. 

and  with  an  emphatic  bump,  answering  to  the  pithy 
speeches  of  warriors  and  statesmen  at  critical  moments, 
deposited  the  great  Thanksgiving  pumpkin  pie.  Look 
ing  proudly  around,  she  simply  said,  "  Dere  !" 

It  was  the  blossom  and  crown  of  Mopsey's  life, 
the  setting  down  and  full  delivery  to  the  family  of 
that,  the  greatest  pumpkin-pie  ever  baked  in  that 
house  from  the  greatest  pumpkin  ever  reared  among 
the  Peabodys  in  all  her  long  backward  recollection 
of  past  Thanksgivings,  and  her  manner  of  setting  it 
down,  was,  in  its  most  defiant  form,  a  clincher  and  a 
challenge  to  all  makers  and  bakers  of  pumpkin-pies, 
to  all  cutters  and  carvers,  to  all  diners  and  eaters, 
to  all  friends  and  enemies  of  pumpkin-pie,  in  the 
thirty  or  forty  United  States.  The  Brundages  too, 
might  come  and  look  at  it  if  they  had  a  mind  to ! 

The  Peabody  family,  familiar  with  the  pie  from 
earliest  infancy,  were  struck  dumb,  and  sat  silent  for 
the  space  of  a  minute,  contemplating  its  vastness  and 
beauty.  Old  Sylvester  even,  with  his  hundred  years 
of  pumpkin-pie  experience,  was  staggered,  and  little 
Sam  jumped  up  and  clapped  his  hands  in  his  old 
grandfather's  arms,  and  struggled  to  stretch  himself 
across  as  if  he  would  appropriate  it,  by  actual  posses- 


THE     NEW-COMERS.  131 

sion,  to  himself.  The  joy  of  the  Peabodys  was  com 
plete,  for  the  lost  grandson  had  returned,  and  the 
Thanksgiving-pie  was  a  glorious  one,  and  if  it  was 
the  largest  share  that  was  allotted  to  the  returned 
Elbridge,  will  any  one  complain  ?  And  yet  at  times 
a  cloud  came  upon  the  young  man's  brow, — when 
dinner  was  passed  with  pleasant  family  talk,  question 
ings  and  experiences,  as  they  sat  about  the  old  home 
stead  hearth, — which  even  the  playful  gambols  of  the 
children  who  sported  about  him  like  so  many  friend 
ly  spirits,  could  not  drive  away.  The  heart  of  cousin 
Elbridge  was  not  in  their  childish  freaks  and  fancies 
as  it  had  been  in  other  days.  The  shining  solitude 
looking  in  at  the  windows  seemed  to  call  him  with 
out. 

As  though  it  had  caught  something  of  the  genial 
spirit  that  glowed  within  the  house,  the  wind  was 
laid  without,  and  the  night  softened  with  the  beauty 
of  the  rising  moon.  With  a  sadness  on  his  brow 
which  neither  the  old  homestead  nor  the  pure  hea 
vens  cast  there,  Elbridge  went  forth  into  the  calm 
night,  and  sitting  for  a  while  by  the  road  beneath  an 
ancient  locust-tree,  where  he  had  often  read  his  book 
in  the  summer-times  of  boyhood,  he  communed  with 


132  CHANTICLEER. 

himself.  He  was  happy — what  mortal  man  could  be 
happier  ? — in  all  his  wishes  come  to  pass ;  his  very 
dreams  had  taken  life  and  proved  to  be  realities  and 
friends,  and  yet  a  sadness  he  could  not  drive  away 
followed  his  steps.  Why  was  this  ?  That  moment, 
if  his  voice  or  any  honorable  and  sinless  motion  of  his 
hand  could  have  ordained  it,  he  would  have  dismiss 
ed  himself  from  life  and  ceased  to  be  a  living  par 
taker  in  the  scenes  about  him.  Even  then — for  happy 
as  he  was,  he  dreaded  in  prophetic  fear,  the  chances 
which  beset  our  mortal  path.  The  weight  of  mor 
tality  was  heavy  upon  the  young  man's  spirit. 

Thinking  over  all  the  way  he  had  passed,  oh,  who 
could  answer  that  he,  with  the  thronging  company 
of  busy  passions  and  desires,  could  ever  hope  to 
reach  an  old  age  and  never  go  astray  ?  Oh,  blessed 
is  he  (he  thought)  who  can  lie  down  in  death,  can 
close  his  account  with  this  world,  having  safely 
escaped  the  temptations,  the  crimes,  the  trials,  which 
make  of  good  men  even,  in  moments  of  weakness  and 
misjudgment,  the  false  speaker,  the  evil-doer,  the 
slanderer,  the  coward,  the  hasty  assailant,  and,  (oh, 
dreadful  perchance,)  the  seeming-guilty-murderer 
himself.  Strange  thoughts  for  a  prosperous  lover's 


THE    NEW-COMERS.  133 

night,  but  earth  is  not  heaven.  With  the  sweat  of 
anguish  on  his  brow  he  bowed  his  head  as  one  whose 
trouble  is  heavy  to  be  borne.  Yet  even  then  the 
thought  of  the  sweet  heaven  over  him,  with  all  its 

O 

glorious  promises,  came  upon  him,  and  as  he  lifted  up 
his  eyes  from  the  earth,  the  moon  sailing  forth  from 
the  clouds,  and  flooding  the  region  with  silver  light, 
disclosed  a  figure  so  gentle  and  delicate,  and  in  its 
features  so  pure  of  all  our  common  passions,  it  seemed 
as  if  his  troubled  thoughts  had  summoned  a  spirit  be 
fore  him  from  the  better  world.  As  he  stood  regard 
ing  it  in  melancholy  calmness,  it  extended  towards 
him  a  hand. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  declining  the  gentle  salutation 
and  retiring  a  pace,  "  touch  me  not,  Miriam,  I  am  not 
worthy  of  your  pure  companionship.  If  you  knew 
what  passed  and  is  passing  in  my  breast,  you  would 
loathe  me  as  a  leper." 

She  was  silent  and  dropped  her  eyes  before  him. 
"  Think  not,   my  gentle  mistress,"  he  added  pre 
sently,  "my  heart   is   changed    towards    you.     The 
glow  is  only  too  bright  and  warm." 

"  If  you  love  me  not,  Elbridge,"  she  interposed 


134  CHANTICLEER. 

quickly,  "  fear  not  to  say  so,  even  now.     I  will  bear 
the  pang  as  best  I  can." 

"  You  have  suffered  too  much  already,"  he  rejoin 
ed,  touched  to  the  heart.  "  My  long  silence  must 
have  been  as  death  to  one  so  kind  and  gentle." 

"  I  have  suffered,"  was  all  she  said.  "  One  word 
from  you  in  your  long  absence  would  have  made  me 
happy." 

"  It  would,  I  know  it  would,  and  yet  I  could  not 
speak  it,"  Elbridge  replied.  "  When,  with  a  blight 
upon  my  name  I  left  those  halls,"  pointing  to  the  old 
homestead  standing  in  shadow  of  the  autumn  trees, 
"I  vowed  to  know  them  no  more,  that  my  step 
should  never  cross  their  threshold,  that  my  voice 
should  never  be  heard  again  in  those  ancient  cham 
bers,  that  no  being  of  all  that  household  should  have 
a  word  from  these  lips  or  hands  till  I  could  corne 
back  a  vindicated  man ;  that  I  would  perish  in  distant 
lands,  find  a  silent  grave  among  strangers,  far  from 
mother  and  her  I  loved,  or  that  I  would  come  back 
with  my  lost  friend,  in  his  living  form,  to  avouch  and 
testify  my  truth  and  innocence." 

"  And  had  you  no  thought  of  me  in  that  cruel  ab 
sence,  dear  Elbridge  ?"  asked  Miriam. 


THE     NEW-COMERS.  135 

"  Of  you  !"  lie  echoed,  now  taking  her  hand,  "  of 
you!  When  in  all  these  my  wanderings,  in  weary 
nights,  in  lonely  days,  on  seas  and  deserts  far  away, 
sore  of  foot  and  sick  at  heart,  making  my  couch  be 
neath  the  stars,  in  the  tents  of  savage  men,  in  the 
shadow  of  steeples  that  know  not  our  holy  faith,  was 
it  not  my  religion  and  my  only  solace,  that  one  like 
you  thought  of  me  as  I  of  her,  and  though  all  the 
world  abandoned  and  distrusted  the  wanderer,  there 
was  one  star  in  the  distant  horizon  which  yet  shone 
true,  and  trembled  with  a  hopeful  light  upon  my 
path." 

"  Are  we  not  each  other's  now  ?"  she  whispered 
softly  as  she  lay  her  gentle  head  upon  his  bosom ; 
"  and  if  we  have  erred,  and  repent  but  truly,  will  not 
He  forgive  us  ?" 

As  she  lifted  up  her  innocent  face  to  heaven,  did 
not  those  gentle  tears  which  fell  unheard  by  mortal 
ear,  from  those  fair  eyes,  drop  in  hearing  of  Him  who 
hears  and  acknowledges  the  faintest  sound  of  true 
affection,  through  all  the  boundless  universe,  musical 
ly  as  the  chime  of  holy  Sabbath-bells  ? 

"  You  are  my  dear  wife,"  he  answered,  folding  her 
close  to  his  heart,  "  and  if  you  forgive  and  still  cher- 


136  CHANTICLEER. 

ish  me,  happiness  may  still  be  ours  ;  and  although 
no  formal  voice  has  yet  called  us  one,  by  all  that's 
sacred  in  the  stillness  of  the  night,  and  by  every 
honest  beating  of  this  heart,  dear  Miriam,  you  are 
mine,  to  watch,  to  tend,  to  love,  to  reverence,  in  sick 
ness,  in  sorrow,  in  care,  in  joy;  by  all  that  belongs  of 
gaiety  to  youth,  in  manhood  and  in  age,  we  will  have 
one  home,  one  couch,  one  fireside,  one  grave,  one  God, 
and  one  hereafter." 

An  old  familiar  instrument,  swept  as  he  well  knew 
by  his  mother's  fingers,  sounded  at  that  moment  from 
the  homestead,  and  hand  in  hand,  blending  their 
steps,  they  returned  to  the  Thanksgiving  household 
within. 


CHAPTER     TENTH. 

THE    CONCLUSION. 

WHEN  Elbridge  and  Miriam  re-entered  the  home 
stead  they  found  the  best  parlor,  which  they  had  left 
in  humble  dependence  on  the  light  of  a  single  home 
made  wick,  now  in  full  glow,  and  wide  awake  in 
every  corner,  with  a  perfect  illumination  of  lamps  and 
candles;  and  every  thing  in  the  room  had  waked  up 
with  them.  The  old  brass  andirons  stood  shining  like 
a  couple  of  bald-headed  little  grandfathers  by  the 
hearth ;  the  letters  in  the  sampler  over  the  mantel, 
narrating  the  ages  of  the  family,  had  renewed  their 
color ;  the  tall  old  clock,  allowed  to  speak  again, 
stood  like  an  overgrown  schoolboy  with  his  face 
newly  washed,  stretching  himself  up  in  a  corner; 
the  painted  robins  and  partridges  on  the  wall, 
now  in  full  feather,  strutting  and  flying  about  in  all 
the  glory  of  an  unfading  plumage;  and  at  the  rear 
of  all  the  huge  back-log  on  the  hearth  glowed  and 


138  CHANTICLEER. 

rolled  in  his  place  as  happy  as  an  alderman  at  a  city 
feast.  The  Peabodys  too,  partook  of  the  new  illumi 
nation,  and  were  there  in  their  best  looks,  scattered 
about  the  room  in  cheerful  groups,  while  in  the  midst 
of  all  the  widow  Margaret,  her  face  lighted  with  a 
smile  which  came  there  from  far-off  years,  holding  in 
her  hand  as  we  see  an  angel  in  the  sunny  clouds  in 
old  pictures,  the  ancient  harpsichord,  which  till  now 
had  been  laid  away  and  out  of  use  for  many  a  long 
day  of  sadness. 

While  Elbridge  and  Miriam  stood  still  in  wonder 
at  the  sudden  change  of  this  living  pageant,  old 
Sylvester,  his  white  head  carried  proudly  aloft,  ap 
peared  from  the  sitting-room  with  Mr.  Barbary,  a 
quaint  figure,  freed  now  of  his  long  coat,  and  bearing 
no  trace  of  travel  on  his  neat  apparel  and  face  of 
cheerful  gravity.  Leaving  the  preacher  in  the  centre 
of  the  apartment,  the  patriarch  advanced  quietly  to 
ward  the  young  couple,  and,  addressing  himself  to 
Elbridge,  said,  "  My  children,  I  have  a  favor  to  ask 
of  you." 

"  Anything,  grandfather !"  Elbridge  answered 
promptly. 


THE     CONCLUSION.  139 

"  You  are  sure  ?"  Old  Sylvester's  eyes  twinkled  as 
he  spoke. 

"  It  would  be  the  pleasure  and  glory  of  my  young- 
days,"  Elbridge  answered  again,  "  to  crown  your  no 
ble  old  age,  grandfather,  with  any  worthy  wreath 
these  hands  could  fashion,  and  not  call  it  a  favor 
either." 

Old  Sylvester,  smiling  from  one  to  the  other,  said, 
"  You  are  to  be  married  immediately." 

The  young  couple  fell  back  and  dropped  each  the 
other's  hand,  which  they  had  been  holding.  Miriam 
trembled  and  shrunk  the  farthest  away. 

"You  will  not  deny  me?"  the  grandfather  said 
again.  "  You  are  the  youngest  and  the  last  whom  I 
can  hope  to  see  joined  in  that  bond  which  is  to  con 
tinue  our  name  and  race ;  it  is  my  last  request  on 
earth." 

At  these  simple  words,  turning,  and  with  a  fond 
regard  which  spoke  all  their  thoughts,  Miriam  and 
Elbridge  took  again  each  the  other's  hand,  and  drew 
close  side  to  side.  The  company  rose,  and  Mr.  Bar- 
bary  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  when  there 
emerged  upon  the  family  scene,  from  an  inner  cham 
ber,  as  though  he  had  been  a  foreigner  entering  a  fash- 


140  CHANTICLEER. 

ionable  drawing-room,  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack,  in  the 
very  blossom  of  full  dress ;  his  hair  in  glossy  curl, 
with  white  neckcloth  and  waistcoat  of  the  latest  cut 
and  tie,  coat  and  pants  of  the  purest  model,  pumps  and 
silk  stockings ;  bearing  in  his  hand  a  gossamer  pocket- 
handkerchief,  which  he  shook  daintily  as  he  ad 
vanced,  and  filled  the  room  with  a  strange  fragrance. 
With  mincing  step,  just  dotting  the  ground,  his  whole 
body  shaking  like  a  delicate  structure  in  danger 
every  moment  of  tumbling  to  the  ground,  he  ad 
vanced  to  where  Miriam  and  Elbridge  stood  before 
Mr.  Barbary. 

"  Why  really,  'pon  my  life  and  honor,  Miriam,  you 
are  looking  quite  charming  this  evening !" 

"  She  should  look  so  now  if  ever,  Tiffany,"  said 
old  Sylvester,  "  for  she  is  just  about  to  be  married  to 
your  cousin  Elbridge." 

"  Now  you  don't  mean  that  ?"  said  Mr.  Tiffany, 
touching  the  tawny  tufts  tenderly  with  his  perfumed 
pocket-handkerchief,  "  Oh,  woman !  woman  !  what 
is  your  name?"  He  hesitated  for  a  reply. 

"Perfidy?"  suggested  Mr.  Oliver  Peabody. 

"Yes,  that's  it.  Have  I  lived  to  look  on  this," 
Mr.  Tiffany  continued  ;  "  to  have  my  young  hopes 


THE     CONCLUSION.  141 

blighted,  the  rose  of  my  existence  cropped,  and  all 
that.  Is  it  for  this,"  addressing  Miriam  directly  :  he 
had  been  talking  before  to  the  air :  "  Is  it  for  this  I 
went  blackberrying  with  you  in  my  tender  infancy ! 
Is  it  for  this  that  in  the  heyday  of  youth  I  walked 
with  you  to  the  school-house  down  the  road  !  Was 
it  for  this  that  in  the  prime  of  manhood  I  breathed 
soft  music  in  your  ear  at  the  witching  time  of  night !" 

As  he  arrived  at  this  last  question,  Mopsey,  in  her 
new  gown  of  gorgeous  pattern,  and,  having  laid 
aside  her  customary  broad-bordered  cap,  with  a  high 
crowned  turban  of  red,  and  yellow  cotton  handker 
chief  on  her  head,  appeared  at  the  parlor  door.  Mr. 
Tiffany  paused  :  he  saw  the  Moorish  princess  before 
him ;  rallying,  however,  he  was  proceeding  to  de 
scribe  himself  as  a  friendly  troubadour,  whose  affec 
tion  had  been  responded  to,  when  the  Captain  pla 
cing  his  mouth  to  his  ear,  as  in  confidence,  uttered  in 
a  portentous  whisper,  "  THE  VAT  !" 

Mr.  Tiffany  immediately  lost  all  joint  and  strength, 
subsided  into  a  chair  at  a  distance,  and  from  that 
moment  looked  upon  the  scene  like  one  in  a  trance. 

"  After  all,"  said  Mr.  Oliver,  glancing  at  him,  "  I 
don't  see  just  now  that,  in  any  point  of  view,  this 


142  CHANTICLEER. 

young  gentleman  is  destined  to  carry  the  principles 
of  free  government — anywhere." 

The  family  being  now  all  gathered,  Mr.  Barbary 
proceeded,  employing  a  simple  and  impressive  form 
in  use  in  that  family  from  its  earliest  history  : 

"  You,  the  Bridegroom  and  the  Bride,  who  now 
present  yourselves  candidates  of  the  covenant  of  God 
and  of  your  marriage  before  him,  in  token  of  your 
consenting  affections  and  united  hearts,  please  to  give 
your  hands  to  one  another. 

"  Mr.  Bridegroom,  the  person  whom  you  now  take 
by  the  hand,  you  receive  to  be  your  married  wife : 
you  promise  to  love  her,  to  honor  her,  to  support  her, 
and  in  all  things  to  treat  her  as  you  are  now,  or  shall 
hereafter  be  convinced  is  by  the  laws  of  Christ  made 
your  duty, — a  tender  husband,  with  unspotted  fidel 
ity  till  death  shall  separate  you. 

"  Mrs.  Bride,  the  person  whom  you  now  hold  by 
the  hand  you  accept  to  be  your  married  husband ; 
you  promise  to  love  him,  to  honor  him,  to  submit  to 
him,  and  in  all  things  to  treat  him  as  you  are  now 
or  shall  hereafter  be  convinced,  is  by  the  laws  of 
Christ  made  your  duty, — an  affectionate  wife,  with 
inviolable  loyalty  till  death  shall  separate  you. 


THE    CONCLUSION.  143 

"  .This  solemn  covenant  you  make,  and  in  this  sa 
cred  oath  bind  your  souls  in  the  presence  of  the  Great 
t-rod,  and  before  these  witnesses. 

"  I  then  declare  you  to  be  husband  and  wife  regu 
larly  married  according  to  the  laws  of  God  and  the 
Commonwealth  :  therefore  what  God  hath  thus  join 
ed  together  let  no  man  put  asunder." 

When  these  words  had  been  solemnly  spoken  the 
widow  Margaret  struck  her  ancient  harpsichord  in  an 
old  familiar  tune  of  plaintive  tenderness,  and  the 
young  bridegroom  holding  Miriam's  hand  in  an  affec 
tionate  clasp,  answered  the  music  with  a  little  hymn 
or  carol,  often  used  before  among  the  Peabodys  on  a 
like  occasion : 

Entreat  me  not — I  ne'er  will  leave  thee, 

Ne'er  loose  this  hand  in  bower  or  hall ; 
This  heart,  this  heart  shall  ne'er  deceive  thee, 

This  voice  shall  answer  ever  to  thy  call. 

To  which  Miriam,  after  a  brief  pause  of  hesitation, 
in  that  tone  of  chanting  lament  familiar  to  her,  an 
swered — 

Thy  God  is  mine,  where'er  thou  rovest, 

Where'er  thou  dwellest  there  too  will  I  dwell ; 

In  the  same  grave  shall  she  thou  lovest 
Lie  down  with  him  she  loves  so  well. 


144  CHANTICLEER. 

Like  a  cheerful  voice  answering  to  these,  aixl  wish 
ing,  out  of  the  mysterious  darkness  of  night,  all  hap 
piness  and  prosperity  to  the  young  couple,  the  silver 
call  of  Chanticleer  arose  without,  renewed  and  renew 
ed  again,  as  if  he  could  never  tire  of  announcing  the 
happy  union  to  all  the  country  round. 

And  now  enjoyment  was  at  its  height  among  the 
Peabodys,  helped  by  Plenty,  who,  with  Mopsey  for 
chief  assistant,  hurried  in,  with  plates  of  shining  pip 
pins,  baskets  of  nuts,  brown  jugs  of  new  cider  of 
home-made  vintage;  Mrs.  Carrack,  who  had  selected 
the  simplest  garment  in  her  wardrobe,  moving  about 
in  aid  of  black  Mopsey,  tendering  refreshment  to  her 
old  father  first,  and  Mrs.  Jane  Peabody  insisting  on 
being  allowed  to  distribute  the  walnuts  with  her  own 
hand. 

The  children,  never  at  rest  for  a  moment,  frisked  to 
and  fro,  like  so  many  merry  dolphins,  disporting  in 
the  unaccustomed  candle-light,  to  which  they  were 
commonly  strangers.  They  were  listened  to  in  all 
their  childish  prattle  kindly,  by  every  one,  indulged 
in  all  their  little  foolish  ways,  as  if  the  grown-up  Pea 
bodys  for  this  night  at  least,  believed  that  they  were 
indeed  little  citizens  of  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  stray- 


THE     CONCLUSION.  145 

ing  about  this  wicked  world  on  parole.  Uncle  Oliver, 
once,  spreading  his  great  Declaration-of-Independence 
pocket-handkerchief  on  his  knees,  attempted  to  put 
them  to  the  question  as  to  their  learning.  They  all  re 
cognised  Dr.  Franklin,  with  his  spectacles  thrown  up  on 
his  brow,  among  the  signers,  but  denying  all  know 
ledge  of  anything  more,  ran  away  to  the  Captain, 
who  was  busy  building,  a  dozen  at  a  time,  paper 
packet  ships,  and  launching  them  upon  the  table  for 
a  sea. 

In  the  very  midst  of  the  mirthful  hubbub  old  Syl 
vester  called  Robert  and  William  to  his  side,  and  was 
heard  to  whisper,  "  Bring  'em  in."  William  and  Eo- 
bert  were  gone  a  moment  and  returned,  bearing  un 
der  heavy  head-way,  tumbling  and  pitching  on  one 
side  constantly,  two  ancient  spinning  wheels,  Mopsey 
following  with  snowy  flocks  of  wool  and  spin 
ning  sticks.  Old  Sylvester  arose,  and  delivering  a 
stick  and  flock  to  Mrs.  Carrack  and  Mrs.  Jane  Pea- 
body,  requested  them,  in  a  mild  voice  and  as  a  mat 
ter  of  course  already  settled,  "  to  begin."  A  spin 
ning-match  ! 

"  Yes,  anything  you  choose  to-night,  father." 
Boiling  back  their  sleeves,  adjusting  their  gowns, 


146  CHANTICLEER. 

the  wheels  being  planted  on  either  side  of  the  fire 
place,  Mrs.  Jane  and  Mrs.  Carrack,  stick  in  hand, 
seized  each  on  her  allotment  of  wool,  and  sent  the 
wheels  whirling.  It  was  a  cheerful  sight  to  see  the 
two  matrons  closing  in  upon  the  wheel,  retiring, 
closing  in  again — whose  wheel  is  swiftest,  whose 
thread  truest  ?  Now  Mrs.  Jane — now  Mrs.  Carrack. 
If  either,  Mrs.  Carrack  puts  the  most  heart  in  her 
work. 

"  Now  she  looks  like  my  Nancy,"  said  old  Sylves 
ter  in  a  glow,  "  as  when  she  used  to  spin  and  sing, 
in  the  old  upper  chamber." 

Away  they  go — whose  wheel  is  swiftest,  whose 
thread  the  truest  now  ? 

While  swift  and  free  the  contest  wages,  the  par 
lor-door  standing  open,  and  beyond  that  the  door  of 
the  sitting-room,  look  down  the  long  perspective  ! 
Do  you  not  see  in  the  twilight  of  the  kitchen  fire  a 
dark  head,  lighting  up,  as  in  flashes,  with  a  glittering 
row  of  teeth,  with  a  violent  agitation  of  the  body, 
with  gusty  ha-ha's,  and  ^fragments  of  an  uproarious 
chant  flying  through  the  door  something  to  this 
effect— 


THE    CONCLUSION.  147 

Oh,  de  fine  ladies,  how  dey  do  spin — spin — spin, 

Like  de  gals  long  ago — long  ago ! 
I  bet  to'der  one  don't  win — win — win, 

Kase  de  diamond-flowers  on  her  fingers  grow. 
Lay  down  your  white  gloves,  take  up  de  wool, 

Round  about  de  whirly  wheel  go  ; 

Back'ard  and  for'ard  nimble  feet  pull, 

Like  de  nice  gals  long — long  ago ! 

Silence  follows,  in  which  nothing  is  observable 
from  that  quarter  more  than  a  great  pair  of  white 
eyes  rolling  about  in  the  partial  darkness.  Who 
was  other  than  pleased  that  in  spite  of  Mopsey's 
decision,  old  Sylvester  determined  that  if  either,  Mrs. 
Carrack's  work  was  done  a  little  the  soonest,  and 
that  her  thread  was  a  little  the  truest  ? 

During  the  contest  the  old  merchant  and  his  wife 
had  conversed  closely,  apart ;  the  green  shade  had 
lost  its  terrors,  and  he  could  look  on  it  steadily,  now  ; 
and  at  the  close  William  Peabody  approaching  the  fire 
place,  drew  from  his  bosom  the  old  parchment  deed, 
which  in  his  hunger  for  money  had  so  often  disquiet 
ed  his  visits  to  the  homestead,  and  thrust  it  into  the 
very  heart  of  the  flame,  which  soon  shrivelled  it  up, 
and,  conveying  it  out  at  the  chimney,  before  the  night 
was  past  spread  it  in  peaceful  ashes  over  the  very 
grounds  which  it  had  so  long  disturbed. 


148  CHANTICLEER. 

"  So  much  for  that !"  said  the  old  merchant,  as  the 
last  flake  vanished ;  "  and  now,  nephew,"  he  address 
ed  himself  to  Elbridge,  "  fulfilling  an  engagement 
connected  with  your  return,  I  resign  to  you  all  charge 
of  your  father's  property." 

"  Did  you  bring  anything  with  you  from  the  Gold 
Region?"  Mrs.  Carrack  interposed. 

"  Not  one  cent,  Aunt,"  Elbridge  answered  prompt 
ly. 

"  You  may  add,  William,"  pursued  Mrs.  Carrack, 

"  the  sums  of  mine  you  have  in  hand." 

William  Peabody  was  pausing  on  this  proposition, 
the  sums  in  question  being  at  that  very  moment 
embarked  in  a  most  profitable  speculation. 

Upon  the  very  height  of  the  festivity,  when  it 
glowed  the  brightest  and  was  most  musical  with  mirth 
ful  voices,  there  had  come  to  the  casement  a  moan 
ing  soun<f  as  if  borne  upon  the  wind  from  a  distance, 
a  wailing  of  anguish,  at  the  same  time  like  and  un 
like  that  of  human  suffering.  By  slow  advances  it 
approached  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  homestead,  and 
whenever  it  arose  it  brought  the  family  enjoyment  to 
a  momentary  pause.  It  had  drawn  so  near  that  it 
sounded  now  again,  as  if  in  mournful  lamentation,  at 


THE    CONCLUSION.  149 

the  very  door,  when  Mopsey,  her  dark  face  almost 
white,  and  her  brow  wrinkled  with  anxiety,  rushed 
in.  "  Grandfather,"  she  said,  addressing  old  Sylves 
ter,  "  blind  Sorrel 's  dying  in  the  door-yard." 

There  was  not  one  in  all  that  company  whom  the 
announcement  did  not  cause  to  start ;  led  by  old  Syl 
vester,  they  hastily  rose,  and  conducted  by  Mopsey, 
followed  to  the  scene.  Blind  Sorrel  was  lying  by  the 
moss-grown  horse-trough,  at  the  gate. 

"I  noticed  her  through  the  day,"  said  Oliver, 
"  wandering  up  the  lane  as  if  she  was  seeking  the 
house." 

"  The  death-agony  must  have  been  upon  her  then," 
said  William  Peabody,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand. 

"  She  remembered,  perhaps,  her  young  days,"  old 
Sylvester  added,  "  when  she  used  to  crop  the  door- 
yard  grass." 

Mopsey,  in  her  solicitude  to  have  the  death-bed  of 
poor  blind  Sorrel  properly  attended,  had  brought 
with  her,  in  the  event  of  the  paling  or  obscuration 
of  the  moon,  a  dark  lantern,  which  she  held  tenderly 
aside  as  though  the  poor  old  creature  still  possessed 
her  sight;  immoveable  herself  as  though  she  had 


150  CHANTICLEER. 

been  a  swarthy  image  in  stone,  while,  on  the  other 
side,  William  Peabody,  near  her  head,  stood  gazing 
upon  the  animal  with  a  fixed  intensity,  breathing 
hard  and  watching  her  dying  struggle  with  a  rigid 
steadiness  of  feature  almost  painful  to  behold. 

"  Has  carried  me  to  mill  many  a  day,"  he  said ; 
"  some  pleasantest  hours  of  my  life  spent  upon  her 
back,  sauntering  along  at  early  day." 

"Your  mother  rode  her  to  meeting,"  Sylvester 
addressed  his  second  son,  "on  your  wedding-day, 
Oliver.  Sorrel  was  of  a  long-lived  race." 

"She  was  the  gentlest  horse-creature  you  ever 
owned,  father,"  added  Mrs.  Carrack,  turning  affec 
tionately  toward  old  Sylvester,  "  and  humored  us 
girls  when  we  rode  her  as  though  she  had  been  a 
blood-relation." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  Mr.  Tiffany  Carrack  re 
joined,  "for  she  has  dumped  me  in  a  ditch  more 
than  once." 

"That  was  your  own  careless  riding,  Tiffany,"  said 
the  Captain,  "  I  don't  believe  she  had  the  least  ill- 
will  towards  any  living  creature,  man  or  beast." 

It  was  observed  that  whenever  William  Peabody 
spoke,  blind  Sorrel  turned  her  feeble  head  in  that  di- 


THE    CONCLUSION.  151 

rection,  as  if  she  recognised  and  singled  out  his  voice 
from  all  the  others. 

"  She  knows  your  voice,  father,  even  in  her  dark 
ness,"  said  the  Captain,  "  as  the  sailor  tells  his  old 
captain's  step  on  deck  at  night." 

"  Well  she  may,  Charles,"  the  merchant  replied, 
"  for  she  was  foaled  the  same  day  I  was  born." 

The  old  creature  moaned  and  heaved  her  side 
fainter  and  fainter. 

"  Speak  to  her,  William,"  said  the  old  grandfather. 
William  Peabody  bent  down,  and  in  a  tremulous 
voice  said,  "  Sorrel,  do  you  know  me  ?" 

The  poor  blind  creature  lifted  up  her  aged  head 
feebly  towards  him,  heaved  her  weary  side,  gasped 
once  and  was  gone.  The  moon,  which  had  been 
shining  with  a  clear  and  level  light  upon  the  group 
of  faces,  dipped  at  that  moment  behind  the  orchard- 
trees,  and  at  the  same  instant  the  light  in  the 
lantern  flickering  feebly,  was  extinguished. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  putting  the  light  out, 
Mopsey,"  old  Sylvester  asked. 

"  I  knew  de  old  lamp  would  be  goin'  out,  Massa, 
soon  as  ever  blind  Sorrel  die  ;  I  tremble  so  I  do'  no 


152  CHANTICLEER. 

what  I'm  saying."     It  was  poor  Mopsey's  agitation 
which  had  shaken  out  the  light. 

"  Never  shall  we  know  a  more  faithful  servant, 
a  truer  friend,  than  poor  blind  Sorrel,"  they  all  agreed ; 
and  bound  still  closer  together  by  so  simple  a  bond 
as  common  sympathy  in  the  death  of  the  poor  old 
blind  family  horse,  they  returned  within  the  home 
stead. 

They  were  scarcely  seated  again  when  William  Pea- 
body,  turning  to  Mrs.  Carrack,  said,  "  Certainly !" 
referring  to  the  transfer  of  the  money  of  hers  in  his 
hands  on  loan,  to  Elbridge,  "  he  will  need  some 
ready  money  to  begin  the  world  with." 

All  was  cheerful  friendship  now  ;  the  family,  recon 
ciled  in  all  its  members,  sitting  about  their  aged 
father's  hearth  on  this  glorious  Thanksgiving  night ; 
the  gayer  mood  subsiding,  a  sudden  stillness  fell  upon 
the  whole  house,  such  as  precedes  some  new  turn  in 
the  discourse. 

Old  Sylvester  Peabody  sat  in  the  centre  of  the 
family,  moving  his  body  to  and  fro  gently,  and  lifting 
his  white  head  up  and  down  upon  his  breast ;  his 
whole  look  and  manner  strongly  arresting  the  atten 
tion  of  all ;  of  the  children  not  the  least.  After  a 


THE     CONCLUSION.  153 

while  the  old  man  paused,  and  looking  mildly  about, 
addressed  the  household. 

"  This  is  a  happy  day,  my  children,"  he  said,  "  but 
the  seeds  of  it  were  sown,  you  must  allow  an  old  man 
to  say,  long,  long  ago.  If  one  good  Being  had  not 
died  in  a  far  country  and  a  very  distant  time,  we 
could  not  have  this  comfort  now." 

The  children  watched  the  old  grandfather  more 
closely. 

"  I  am  an  old  man,  and  shall  be  with  you,  I  feel, 
but  for  a  little  while  yet ;  as  one  who  stands  at  the 
gate  of  the  world  to  come,  looking  through,  and 
through  which  he  is  soon  to  pass,  will  you  not  allow 
me  to  believe  that  I  thought  of  the  hopes  of  your 
immortal  spirits  in  your  youth  ?" 

As  being  the  eldest,  and  answering  for  the  rest, 
William  Peabody  replied,  "  We  will." 

"  Did  I  not  teach  you  then,  or  strive  my  best  to 
teach,  that  there  was  but  one  Holy  God  ?" 

"  You  did,  father — you  did !"  the  widow  Margaret 
answered. 

"  That  his  only  Son  died  for  us  ?" 

"  Often— often  !"  said  Mrs.  Carrack. 

"  That  we  must  love  one  another  as  brethren  ?" 


154  CHANTICLEER. 

"  At  morning  and  night,  in  winter  and  summer ; 
by  the  hearth  and  in  the  field,  you  did,"  Oliver  re 
joined. 

"  That  there  is  but  one  path  to  happiness  and 
peace  here  and  hereafter,"  he  continued,  "  through 
the  performance  of  our  duty  towards  our  Maker,  and 
our  fellow  men  of  every  name,  and  tongue,  and 
clime,  and  color  ?  to  love  your  dear  Native  Land,  as 
she  sits  happy  among  the  nations,  but  to  remember 
this,  our  natural  home,  is  but  the  ground-nest  and 
cradle  from  which  we  spread  our  wings  to  fly  through 
all  the  earth  with  hope  and  kindly  wishes  for  all  men. 
If  the  air  is  cheerful  here,  and  the  sun-light  pleasant, 
let  no  barrier  or  wall  shut  it  in,  but  pray  God,  with 
reverent  hope,  it  spread  hence  to  the  farthest  lands 
and  seas,  till  all  the  people  of  the  earth  are  lighted  up 
and  made  glad  in  the  common  fellowship  of  our 
blessed  Saviour,  who' is,  was,  and  will  be  evermore — 
to  all  men  guide,  protector,  and  ensample.  May  He 
be  so  to  us  and  ours,  to  our  beloved  home  and  happy 
Fatherland,  in  all  the  time  to  come !" 

The  old  man  bowed  his  head  in  presence  of  his  re 
conciled  household,  and  fell  into  a  sweet  slumber ; 
not  one  of  all  that  company  but  echoed  the  old  man's 


THE    CONCLUSION.  155 

prayer — "  May  lie  be  so  to  us  and  ours,  to  our  be 
loved  Home  and  happy  Fatherland  in  all  the  time 
to  come !" 

On  this,  on  every  day  of  Thanksgiving  and  Praise, 
be  that  old  man's  blessed  prayer  in  all  quarters, 
among  all  classes  and  kindred,  everywhere  repeated  : 
"  May  He  be  so  to  us  and  ours,  to  our  beloved  Home 
and  happy  Fatherland  in  all  the  time  to  come  !'' 

And  when,  like  that  good  old  man,  we  come  to 
bow  our  heads  at  the  close  of  a  long,  long  life,  may 
we,  like  him,  fall  into  a  gentle  sleep,  conscious  that 
we  have  done  the  work  of  charity,  and  spread  about 
our  path,  wherever  it  lead,  peace  and  good-will 
among  men ! 


THE    END. 


M13S010 


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